


I'm Not Afraid of Your God(queen)

by FoggedReality



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol Withdrawal, And Then Some, Anxiety, Blood and Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Dubious Consent, Gen, Heroic last stand, How did this end up so dark?, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Major Character Injury, Mucking with the storyline, Not Beta Read, Not Really Character Death, Not going out like this, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, SPOILERS because how can you write this without it, Self-Harm, So very much unhealthy and awful, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 67,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23455363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoggedReality/pseuds/FoggedReality
Summary: What if the Calypso twins captured more than one Crimson Raider...
Relationships: Zane/Amara but not the main focus
Comments: 77
Kudos: 84





	1. Divergence

**Author's Note:**

> Because no one gets out of this thing alive, and I torture my characters when I'm in this kind of mood. I'm sorry ahead of time for whatever bad happens. 
> 
> The author reserves the right to screw with canon as needed to satisfy the story. Some fan theory and head-canon included as it progresses. It all belongs to Gearbox, but whee! :)
> 
> Additional tags will be added as needed.
> 
> Please comment! It helps me get better and/or figure out if I should even be doing this.

Tossing aside a worthless shield to further litter the ground with other detritus not worth the price of pack space, Zane stood and stretched, amazed that the smoke had already wafted away from the killing grounds. There were still plenty of bodies decorating the area with blood and viscera, but that was nothing new. 

The air hummed with the electric shimmer of the vault portal, and it set his teeth on edge. Grinding them together to try to get rid of the unpleasant metallic vibration, he turned in a full circle, ready to ask one of his fellow vault hunters if they heard it and it bothered them as much, because *he* was fecking irritated.

None of them were on the platform, which meant they were all still raiding the vault. He was probably missing out on something amazing, but he’d made Amara promise to hold back a nice rifle if she came across one. No joy out here in the open air, but he came out of the last vault with an insta-migraine , which he was not so willing to repeat. Probably some kind of interference or incompatibility with his implanted hardware.

He was debating on whether or not to tempt fate when his gaze fell on Tannis _. Ahh… darling, introverted, awkward, insufferable Tannis._ He could ask her if Vault-induced headaches were a thing or if it was just his imagination and a bender he’d forgotten about catching up with him. She was milling around, kicking away ammo or some useless trinket in a pointedly distracted manner, arms crossed over her chest like a shield. The operative smirked and shoved his hands into his pockets, putting on his best saunter as he moseyed in her direction.

“Hey, Tannis.”

Her head jerked up and she gave him one of her usual terrified expressions before settling back into her carefully cultivated blank aloofness.

“Vault Hunter.”

Zane rolled his eyes. The woman never could be bothered to learn their names, and they’d been a team for how long now? Months? Not even a nickname like the rest of the crew bantered around. Lilith’s “killer” was definitely his favorite. It stroked his ego in just the right way.

“Well, this is odd…”

The operative had only a second to register that she wasn’t talking about him coming over to chat her up, but about the electric glow that had enveloped her between blinks. He was only a couple of paces away from her, so when the sphere snapped into place, it caught him in its outside orbit with a popping in his ears and a painful *whuff* as the air was forced from his lungs. If this was his reaction on the outside of the charged sphere, he couldn’t imagine what Tannis was dealing with on the inside. She looked far too calm, though, like she was examining her predicament with her usual detached scientific scrutiny. In opposition, Zane was fighting panic, unable to draw a breath, as frozen in place by the ethereal static as she was.

Voices cut across the EHCO, reverberating and distant.

“I’ve got her!Wait… I’ve got them both! Hurry, do the thing!” It sounded suspiciously like that little gobshite Calypso boy.

“What the fuck is going on here?” That was definitely Moze, bordering on anger and disbelief. _Hey, the gang's all here!_

More voices joined, now yelling incoherently all at once as the world went red and vanished in a flash so bright it overwhelmed and blotted out the rest of world.

The ground shot up and smacked Zane into a dazed stupor as he crashed down to meet it halfway. If he had any breath left, it would have knocked it out of him. As it was, he was flat on the cold and very solid ground _….Ugh… so fecking solid_ …. gasping for air like a fish out of water. _Up boyo… get UP!_ Every survival instinct was screaming at him to get to his feet and just start shooting... so he did, gun in his hand and Zoomer released even before his vision had cleared completely. He could hear the drone and a cry of pain from the steady electrical *zapzapzap*, so he used the sound to target and pop off two quick shots with the Jakobs, immediately hearing the drone whiz off toward another target as a body fell. _Time to bring out the clone/drone combo,_ as gloved fingers reached for the control switch to add more firepower.

He was starting to see more than just blinking afterimages when he was swept off his feet…and not in a sweet, romantic way… unable to even flail as the blue orb surrounded him, freezing him in mid-motion. One hand was wrapped around his pistol grip, the other around his double’s control module, but fingers were frozen on both triggers, unable to shoot or call for gorgeous digital help. It was an off-putting sensation, hot and cold at the same time, falling but completely still, paralyzed but aware and able to feel. He watched Zoomer start sparking again, but this time, it wasn’t from attacking…it was in a spiraling dive, smoke and sparks trailing behind it as it crunched into the concrete floor.

The tall Calypso brother strode forward, grinning quite literally from ear to ear, his hand in the air as he controlled the phaselock.

“Gotta _love_ this power, man.” He squeezed his fist slowly, and Zane could feel the orb begin to constrict, the pressure inside the sparking air suddenly weighing in on him from all directions. “I could crush you like a fucking little bug, vault thief. You killed one of my… _our_ followers. _And_ got blood on my jacket.”

Even with the pressure building, the operative still managed to chuckle darkly. “Killed a lot more’n one, methinks. And if you were close enough for blood splatter, I shoulda aimed a few inches further to th’ left.” _Would probably save us all a lot of trouble if I’d been that lucky._

 _“_ Then I think you deserve an extra special death. Hey, Ty!” He called over his shoulder, blue eyes still on the captive Flynt.

The smaller sibling sauntered into view, taking her time and basking in the moment of power. Cultist minions followed behind her, dragging a bound and semi-conscious Tannis between them. Zane’s heart skipped a beat as they dropped her onto the floor, but he heard the scientist grunt as she unceremoniously hit the concrete, so she was at still alive, at least. _Feck… I didn’t wanna start likin’ you people._ _Makes everything more complicated._

Tyreen crossed her arms, smirking up at the operative. Zane was pretty sure she was going to tell her brother dearest to just squash him and see what came out. There were worse ways to go. At least it should be quick, if it was anything like what he’d seen ‘Mara do.

“Hey! I think I know that guy…” One of the cultists behind them spoke up _. Oh, shite…._

The ‘god-queen’ obviously did not like to be interrupted, and she spun on her booted heel, glaring at the gathered cultists behind them. The offender immediately fell to his knees, face planted on the ground in supplication.

“Forgive me, God-Queen! But he’s… uh… sort of famous ‘round here. Or his brothers was, anyway.”

“Oh, really?” Now Tyreen turned back to the operative with a curious expression, torn between irritation that someone else might steal the spotlight and fascination that another one of the annoying vault thieves was so well known. “How famous?”

“He’s a Flynt. I used to be in his big brother’s crew.”

“Hey, Ty, wasn’t Flynt the guy Katagawa mentioned we should find?”

“Oh, yeah….” Now she was appraising him in a way Zane absolutely didn’t like. This was getting so very, very bad. “Zane? Is that right?” When he didn’t acknowledge it, she took that as a confirmation anyway. “Well, well… we have _two_ infamous Raiders in our midst then.”

“Katagawa… isn’t he that Maliwan fook we killed? Twice?” Yep, even when being slowly crushed to death, he was a Flynt through and through, so he was going happily exit this life being a snarky smart-ass.

“Hmm…” Tyreen frowned. “Well… he thought we should hire you. ‘Best corporate hitman in the business.’ Ruthless... I dunno, you look pretty helpless to me.”

“Just 'pretty' will do. And was that praise before or after Maliwan put out a bounty on me head? I ain’t workin’ for you or anyone else. I’m retired.” He added the last with a smug tone.

“Really now… Hell of a way to retire, looks like. Welcome to Hotel Calypso and the rest of your short-ass, saggy old-man life. Hey, Troy! You have your camera handy?”

“Huh? Oh yeah… always.”

“I have an idea… let’s go live.”

Troy pulled up his ECHO and called a video drone. “Okay, sis. We’re live in three… two…”

“What's up, brothers and sisters? God Queen Tyreen coming to you live, and have we got a special treat for our Pandoran and corporate followers today…”


	2. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane lets his true killer show, but every action has its consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some character quotes are pulled directly from the game, so aren't mine, some are paraphrased rather than being accurate or word-for-word.

The Crimson Raiders had gathered back on Sanctuary, crowded close together around the viewscreen in an uncharacteristically silent and protective huddle. The ECHOnet live stream was ending, and it had been just as heart-wrenchingly awful as the over-produced video blurbs starring Lilith and Maya.

“Highest bid gets to do whatever you want while we live-stream it for our fans! Bids start at… “ The view, which had been on the pair of captive Crimson Raiders and a gloating Troy standing between them, swung to focus squarely on Tyreen, but she was looking off-camera with an incredulous expression. “Holy fuck… _that_ much? Really?? More than that Salvatore guy?? Huh...well then, viewers, this will be even more fun than we thought! Don’t forget to like, share, and obey!” A price with way too many zeros at the end flashed across the screen before it went dark.

Ava had both hands covering her mouth in horror, and even Lilith looked ill.

“I should have known. Should have seen it coming. This is what I was afraid of.” Lilith sat back against the console with a frown, arms crossing in frustration.

“Stop it! You’re talking about them like they’re already dead!” Ava’s horror was quickly turning to full-on teenaged fury, like she was going to walk straight out the airlock and rip someone a new one, no matter who it was or what it took. “We have to go get them. Now!”

Amara rested her hand gently on the girl’s shoulder, speaking softly, struggling to contain her own unvoiced dread. “We don’t even know where they are, Ava.”

“They can’t be far. That transport power doesn’t have an infinite range. They have to still be on Pandora.” Lilith sat back against the console, arms crossing in frustration. “Go see Vaughn. Maybe the bandits have seen or heard something. I don’t have to tell any of you, we’re _not_ losing anyone else.”

_________

After the camera feed stopped blinking, Tyreen turned to face the still-paralyzed operative, lips curling upward into a cruel, smug smile. “And here I was thinking this wouldn’t be any fun.” She glanced over to a group of anxious followers, who were hanging on her every word. “Take this one…”gesturing to Tannis, “…to Carnivora. I’ll let Pain know he has a new star attraction on the way.”

The phaselock was finally starting to shimmer and flicker. Zane knew it wasn’t going to last forever, and it was almost time to leap back into action. He was already calculating how many of them he could headshot before he would have to grab Tannis and make run for it. It would also take a while for Troy’s power to come back, and by god, he was going to be the first target removed from this mortal coil as soon as the operative was free.

The orb flickered again and gave out, but even ready for it, Zane didn’t land quite the way he’d hoped, taking another heartbeat for his muscles to unlock from the unnatural paralysis, and he hit the ground hard. One bullet flew wildly as his finger convulsed on the trigger, but the clone sparked into being and immediately began shooting. Cultists screamed dying breaths, others ducked and ran for cover, giving him a few precious seconds to scramble to a crouch and take aim at the self-proclaimed god-king.

It would have been a perfect shot, right though the sneering little shite’s right eye, but something hit him from behind like a bandit’s Technical, and the shot missed… mostly…still grazing the twin’s temple as the bullet whizzed past. It was the only shot he managed to get off, the gun flying from his grasp at the impact. He watched it slide across the floor and away, spinning in its momentum as a gigantic, meaty hand pushed his head against the floor, another pinning his other arm out to the side. But he was still gripping the trigger device, and even though the cultists had already taken out the first clone, it would only be a few more seconds before he could trigger it again.

“Gotcha, little pretty man.”

Zane caught the whiff of the brute’s vile breath as it leaned in closer to leer over him. The beastly man had a knee in the middle of his back, using his bulk to keep the operative pinned. Zane wondered if he could jab a claw into the brute’s leg and sever an artery before the monster crushed something vital… like his head… or just lifted and snapped him in two like a twig.

The giant leaned down even closer, knee and fingers digging into the operative’s back and arm, as he licked a long, wet stripe up Zane’s cheek. “Gonna have some fun with you…”

“Bruno! Back the fuck off.” Even at the command in her voice, the god-queen didn’t sound all that irritated at her minion’s promise. “You can play later.”

 _The feck you will…_ Zane triggered the clone device with a practiced twitch of his finger and let chaos rule again as the handsome blue digital version of himself sprang to existence and started shooting again. The bleach-blonde twin’s smug demeanor shifted to rage as bullets flew in every direction, but she didn’t duck, standing her ground in the midst of the shouting and gunfire, raising her booted foot and bringing it down on Zane’s hand in a bone-crushing stomp. He felt bones crunch together, and fragments of the digital control device splintered through his glove and into his palm. He screamed through gritted teeth, but was granted the satisfaction of seeing a not-so-stray bullet rip through the small twin’s shoulder, staggering her forward and dropping her to one knee before his clone dissipated into a flash of blue pixels. The goon sitting on top of him was splattered with a spray of blood, too shocked and slow-witted to respond in anything but dumbfounded surprise.

Her brother, however, was not so slow on the uptake, screaming his own indignation and flinging himself toward the prone operative. He shoved the brute aside, dragging Zane up to his feet by the collar of his jacket and swinging his oversized robotic arm at the operative’s head, intent on crushing his skull for daring to hurt his sister.

Zane moved with the swing, ducking and spinning, letting his arms slip from out of the sleeves of his jacket, leaving Troy holding nothing but an empty shell where he used to be. Cradling his broken hand against his chest with a grimace of pain, he didn’t let it slow him down, aiming low and taking a chunk out of the dark-haired twin’s thigh as digital claws spring from his gloved hand. Troy shrieked in agonized surprise, but the operative wasn’t done by a long shot.

“You picked the wrong man to feck with, boyo.” His voice was hard, angry, no joking or taunting in his tone anymore, just a killer’s promise. He danced around behind the wounded Calypso brother, using him as a shield against the cultists who had started shooting again, ready to sink his blades deep into the wanna-be god-child’s spine. The cultists immediately stopped shooting, afraid to accidentally hit their god, even in their desperation to take out the vault thief.

Instead, he found himself swept off the ground once again, but not by a blue orb… this one was red and it burned like the air itself was on fire. It was hard to draw breath, harder to see, and it made the feed from his patch waver and blur the way heat waves rose from the baked Pandoran desert.

The god-queen stood slowly, one hand held over the bleeding hole in her shoulder, violent intent etched across her features. She spared one brief glance to her brother, who was writhing on the ground and fumbling for a hypo to staunch the bleeding from his leg. _That will definitely leave a scar…_

“I should end you right now, Flynt.” Tyreen’s tone was pure icy wrath, her eyes even colder. “But I think I’m going to hand you over to my brother first, then to every other bandit who has a bone to pick with you or your family. And when they’ve taken their pound of flesh, I’m giving you to the highest bidder, and I’m gonna laugh while they torture you for whatever it is you did to warrant that kind of price on your head.”

She stepped closer, glaring at him through the haze of the orb. “You’re going to wish you never came back home.” Her fist tightened, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe at all, pressure constricting until the view went from red to a cold, silent black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos! I felt like this was going to be a self-indulgent mess, but when I saw that one of my favorite Zane-fic writers left the very first kudo on it, it inspired me. <3
> 
> I hope this meets your expectations, and there will be more to come. Comments are always a big help!


	3. Self-inflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A calm before the storm while Zane takes (painful) stock of the situation.

The first things Zane gradually became aware of were the ache in his ribs and the searing shards of pain in his left hand. The pain didn’t jolt him suddenly into reality, but eased him back to awareness with an all-too-familiar and unpleasant refrain. In the early days of his career, the number of times he’d woken up after a job in on the floor of one of his safehouses, bruised and battered and bleeding, but successful and _alive_ , were too many to count.

So this was familiar as well… regaining consciousness on the floor, somewhere cold and concrete, but in this case definitely _not_ safe. On the other hand, it was quiet here, so there was no survival voice or adrenaline surge screaming at him to be in any hurry to get up and fight or flee. Now was the time for a full assessment of the situation. Recover and assess.

Quite honestly, the reprieve was a good thing… he wasn’t quite sure yet if he could make his old bones move that quickly if his life depended on it, and definitely not like the early days when he could spring to his feet and shrug off a long night of whatever decadence and debauchery his desires dictated. Part of the ache and stiffness was from lying on the floor for however long it had been since the COV tossed his ass in here… _and what a good looking ass it is, thank you very much_.

If he was totally honest, _everything_ ached, not just the injuries he sustained while they were taking him captive. He forced his eyes open, not happy with the intermittent flicker from his patch, but at least it was still working. _Wait, no_ … it wasn’t the patch that was flickering, it was the candles lighting the room, sending multicolored shadows dancing across stained glass designed to glorify the ungodly twins. Groaning, he sat up, joints popping and protesting, left hand cradled to his chest.

He was in a cage, much like the one they’d rescued Hammerlock from, except this one was on the ground rather than suspended two stories up. _Easy enough_ …he’d gotten out of cells much more secure than this. He only needed to watch and listen and wait for an opportunity, figure out how many COV were lurking about and, ideally, take out Troy and/or Tyreen in the process. They had no idea who they’d tangled with, or they would have simply killed him when they had the chance. _Poor bastards… almost feel sorry for ‘em. Almost._

Zane took a quick scan of the room. It was large and open, and looked like it had been used for various purposes, but now was a makeshift prison. Two other cages sat nearby; the occupant of one was either dead or comatose, but from the pool of blood leaking out between the bars, he could safely say it was the former. Scattered around the room were the crystalline husks of a half-dozen worshipers, captured in the throes of horror or ecstasy at the moment of their deaths.

The other cell was empty…he wondered if they’d kept Tannis in that one until they moved her off to whatever ”Carnivora” was…if she’d watched them strip him of his weapons and toss him ungently into a cage for their future amusement. There was drying blood around the base of that one as well, but he quickly shook away that line of thought before he dragged himself down the path of ‘what ifs.’ He couldn’t help her right now, and dwelling on what might have been done to the nutty little waif would just distract him from what he needed to do now.

His biggest concern was that he really had no idea why they wanted to keep _him_ here, except maybe ransom after finding out how much his bounty was worth. Something about it didn’t track, though. Tannis was their target, he was just an opportunity for a little petty vengeance on the side. But then, why wasn’t he in a cell next to her at Carnivora, waiting for some grandiose execution? Then again, maybe he was... not enough information right now.

He’d been caught before…police, military, security, other operatives… hell, sometimes he turned _himself_ in just because it got him closer to a target. This was different. They _couldn't_ want information, so there wasn’t really a point to torture. On the other hand, they seemed to get off on maiming and killing…even with their own followers. Cultists were falling over themselves for the privilege of dying at the hands of the twins... the husks left like statues was testament enough to that thrill. Death and mayhem in their wake seemed to be their thing. Information brokers he could understand and deal with… insane, sadistic freakers were another story.

 _Feck_ _it all…_

Leaning back against the bars of the cage, the operative awkwardly rolled up the bottom hem of his body suit, hissing through his teeth at the dark bruises decorating his abdomen and ribs, wrapping around to his lower back. Nothing broken, but it didn’t feel good, either. A few of the cultists must have taken out some frustration while he was passed out with a few booted kicks to the ol’ kidneys. Probably wouldn’t be the last bruises he’d end up with here, but again, it was nothing new, nothing he hadn’t dealt with or had inflicted on him before.

His hand was another story…raising it to give it a good once-over. It was a mess…fingers bent at unnatural angles, palm shredded from where the digistructor had shattered and lodged tiny shards of plastic into his skin and then been scraped out when they’d stripped him of his gloves. The bleeding had long since slowed to a weeping ooze, so he started by picking out the remaining plastic splinters that were still left embedded in his skin.

This was going to be a problem…he needed his fingers in working order for oh so many reasons…to deal pain, to aim a rifle, to bring to life that handsome blue digital devil, to pick locks, to play piano, to give pleasure to a partner. He still had his trusty trigger finger, but if he didn’t get to an insta-health vial, he’d have to set and reset his left hand the old fashioned way and would still end up with permanent damage. If that happened, he might… _might_ … consider just chopping it off and going the tech route like Hammerlock or Rhys. _Maybe one of those nice Atlas or Hyperion jobs that worked almost like the real thing… build some sort of mini-launcher into the arm….Oooh! or pistols into each of the fingers… turn meself into a walking turret. Yes!_

 _Bah… snap out of it, Zaneboy. Concentrate!_ Mentally hissing at himself for going off on some tech fantasy while he had other things to worry about. Flicking away the last piece of bloodied plastic shrapnel, he sighed, not looking forward to the next step. Peeling off his grey outer shirt, he started to rip it into strips using his teeth and his good hand. It was slow going, but no one had come to check on him yet, so he was uninterrupted even with all the noise he was making echoing around the otherwise silent chamber. _Shoddy security. Tsk. Walking out of here won’t even be half a challenge._

Resetting bones… _that_ was the immediate challenge. He wished he had his pack so he could take a good long drink from his flask. It wouldn’t kill the pain, but it would have taken the edge off. His fingers were swollen, sickeningly purple and jaundice-yellow around the breaks. With a sigh of resignation, he folded one of the cloth strips lengthwise until it made a thick pad, then stuck it in his mouth, biting down on the soft material. No more procrastinating… gripping his index finger, he pulled, popping the knuckle back into place, then working his way down, realigning the fragile bones as best as he could considering some of them felt like there were only fragments to work with.

The cloth in his mouth helped, able to bite down with full force against the lightning bolts of agony shooting up his arm with every adjustment and muffling the screams when he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He banged his head back against the bars of the cage to distract himself from the torture he was inflicting on himself. By the time he’d gotten to his pinky, he was panting, his vision greying out, and the cloth he’d been biting on had dropped from his slack lips, a line of saliva trailing it to where it landed, sodden, in his lap. He heard footsteps, but couldn’t bring himself to look up yet, still focusing on recentering himself by sheer force of will.

“If I’d known you were going to be torturing yourself, old man, I would have set up a camera and live-streamed it to your Crimson Fakers.” The sound of a slow clap echoed through the room, but it was oddly muted by flesh against metal.

 _Feck_ … it was the soon-to-be-dead Calypso boy. Zane slowly, deliberately raised his head and gave him a cold stare from beneath his brows, lips parting in a crooked smile that was pure venom. “Why doncha come a little closer, and I’ll show ya what it feels like.”

“Nah. We’ll get all up close and personal soon enough. I just wanted to see the show… find out if there was any blood and gore to go with all the screaming. I’m a little disappointed. He…” Troy gestured to the cage with the mangled body, “…was much more satisfying.”

“There’s always blood.” Zane raised his left hand, showing the pretend god-king the lacerations on his palm. It would have had better effect if it wasn’t shaking like he had the DTs already… too soon for that, at least, and he'd be out of here long before it hit… turning the grimace of pain into a snarl as he turned his hand and ran his palm down his own face, breaking open some of the scabbing punctures and trailing a stuttering line of blood across his skin and brows and beard like he was marking himself with warpaint. In a way, he was… he was going to kill every last one of these feckers on his way out, and if he made them think he was a dangerously psychotic madman in the process… well, fear was a powerful weapon on its own. It was why he had a sizable bounty on his head, not because the corporations hated him… _and who could possibly hate a handsome, charming killer like meself_ … but because they were afraid of him.

Troy only raised a brow, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Maybe you’re actually going to be entertaining for an old geezer.” He shot the operative a pair of finger-guns and strode out the way he came in. “Back soon, vault thief. I have to fetch some toys.”

Zane watched as the kid disappeared into the darker recesses beyond the candle-lit room, and sighed heavily, leaning back against the cage once more. Picking up one of the strips of cloth, he started weaving it between his fingers, pulling tight to make a cushion and a self-splint at the same time, until his hand was snugly bound and immobile. Blood was already starting to seep through from his palm and soak into the grey material, and he watched the red spread through the fibers as it took over the landscape of the cloth thread-by-thread. Each new blood-soaked thread represented a COV body falling beneath his bullets, and the Deathbringer’s next step to freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awesome feedback, and giddy about the kudos! Thank you so much for reading! <3


	4. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice... Zane attempts escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one might be a little rushed, but it's been screaming in my head for the past few days to get out.
> 
> Warnings: Lots of past and present violence, implied non-con, language.

“Vault Hunter?”

Zane groaned at the intruding female voice in his head, not even bothering to open his eyes… he was probably just hallucinating anyway. Voices in his head… it felt too early for it, but you never knew when it came to withdrawal. He’d tried detoxing once… _once_ … and it was one of the worst things he’d ever willingly done to himself. Since drinking didn’t seem to be interfering with the quality of his work, there wasn’t really an upside to quitting. As soon as the first round of puking up the non-existent contents of his stomach was done, and he could stay on his feet for more than five minutes at a time, he’d found himself a bar, slammed back four whiskey shots in less than a minute and never looked back.

Coughing out a wad of semi-congealed blood from the back of his throat, he groaned and tried to stretch as much as he could in the uncomfortable position he was in. _That little peewee cunt nearly broke me perfect nose. Who knew a tink could hit that hard?_ Of course, when a body is already on the ground, the butt of a shotgun to the face tends to have an impact, no matter who was wielding it. He’d lost track of who was throwing punches or kicks not long after that.

That had only been escape attempt number two, which had initially gone much better than the first. Of course, the first was more recon than a concentrated attempt to get away. If he’d been a teensy bit luckier, he might have actually made it all the way out, but he’d gotten himself cornered in a dead-end room and fighting was the only option. There was no way he was going to make it easy on them. On the plus side, he’d taken down three of them barehanded and had another in a choking headlock who he was using as a bandit shield. Unfortunately in this case, numbers were on their side and the cultists had zero qualms about killing their own people. One of them threw in a shock grenade, and that was all it took. The hostage took the brunt of it, but the randomness of the electric cloud it left behind hit him like a brick wall. The operative went down as his muscles spasmed with the untamed charge and no shield to absorb it with, and with the double-whammy as it used his hardware as a clear conduit. They’d dragged him back to his cage and tied his hands together between the bars, thinking that would be enough to keep him contained.

The skinny little prick who had thrown the grenade came in later that night to gloat, only to find the operative laying on his back with the rope undone next to him, hands clasped casually behind his head, feet kicked up on the bars of the cage, whistling a jaunty Pandoran tune. Within just a few moments, the shock cultist was dead, locked in the cage with the same rope wrapped tightly around his neck, and Zane was back out stalking the halls…this time, he had a knife.

He made it much further, dispatching cultists with deadly efficiency, leaving bodies with slit throats, spilled entrails, and spreading pools of blood in his silent wake. It was the elevator that was his undoing this time, because _of course_ they were underground. It explained the lack of windows and natural light and also why he couldn’t get a signal from his wired-in access to the ECHOnet. There had to be another way up, though. If he just called the lift down to him, there would be a whole clan of armed COV just waiting for him at the top. Rapidly running out of time for any more reconnaissance, the alarm had been raised, the cultists were racing to find him, and he’d brought a knife to a gun fight.

He made them work for it anyway… ducking in and out of cover, using the shadows where he could, slicing, ducking, dancing around them in a ballet of death and blood spatter artwork. He was in his element, and laughing like a madman, blood dripping from his blade, slicking his hand and arm in red gore, arterial gushes spattered across his face.

Until he wasn’t…lifted off the ground by that gods-be-damned blue orb, arrested in mid-swing and yanked into the air like a fecking puppet on a string. This time, Troy wasn’t gloating or smiling, pierced lip curled in a snarl.

“You are beginning to be a pain.”

“I’ve _always_ been a pain. Just ask me brothers.”

“Not for much longer.” This came from Tyreen as she strode through her injured and dead minions, giving a distasteful sneer as she stepped over a body.

Zane gave a long whistle. “I’m actually flattered. It took _both_ of you this time. I _knew_ all those awards for Most Badass Assassin weren’t fer nothin’.”

Not slowing her stride, she scooped up a gun from the ground, shook off the blood and aimed. The bullet ripped through the operative’s thigh, and he felt the impact of the slug against bone. At the same time, Troy released the orb, and Zane came crashing down to the ground, giving voice to a shriek of agony. He’d been shot _so_ many times before, but it always hurt just the same. There was no getting used to some kinds of pain, and this one was lodged in the bone, too…he wasn’t going to be running a marathon anytime soon.

Tyreen was there in a heartbeat, leaning over him, now holding the gun to his knee. She looked him straight in his one good eye and pulled the trigger again. Standing as he howled in distress, she tossed the gun away and gestured to the remaining cultists. “Beat some sense into him. _Don’t_ kill him. Then clean this mess up.”

He had no clear idea what happened after except for little bits and pieces...like that stupid tink shotgunner...and none of it that he particularly wanted to recall anyway.

Now that he had a pretty good layout of the place in his head, third time was going to be the charm.…but he needed a bit of a breather first. _‘Breather?’ Is that what we’re calling it now?_ And to figure out how to get out of the chains they’d clamped him in. At least he wasn’t inside the cage anymore. His captors had chained him to the outside of it, arms stretched apart so his body made a “T” against the bars. Right now, he was sitting upright against the steel rails, legs stretched out in front… _so I can watch meself bleed…awesome_ … but he could still push to a stand if he wanted to. They’d been generous enough not to hang him from a ceiling beam, or upside down by his ankles… _that_ was the worst… but the crucifixion pose really wasn’t much more comfortable.

When they caught him the time before, they’d stripped him of obvious weapons. This time, they’d stripped him of his boots and the body-hugging black under-armor. That was unfortunate, too… he really didn’t want to see the bruises and cuts they’d left. One of his tormentors had the foresight to tie a couple of makeshift bandages around his leg so _maybe_ he wouldn’t bleed to death right away, but it was vindictively tight to make up it.

The voice in his head was insistent. He’d actually almost forgotten about it. “ _Zane!_ Are you still alive?”

“Depends on yer definition of ‘alive.’”

“Well, you are breathing and conscious… or else I would not have been able to contact you. So we’ll assume the answer is ‘yes’ and move on, shall we?”

Now he knew he wasn’t hallucinating. It was Tannis’ painfully formal way of speaking, no doubt. _Did she just call me by me given name like a normal person?_ But why was she in his head with the big doe eyes and ghostly video image? It was almost like… _Lilith_?

He cleared his throat and spit again, running his tongue over his teeth to make sure they were all still accounted for. _Perfect smile intact… check._ ”So… how long have you been a siren?”

That seemed so catch her completely off guard. “I…well… it’s a...”

“Yeah, yeah. Long story. Right, right. So you got away, then?”

“Well… no. They’re still taking requests from their fans on how to kill me. And I’d rather not show them what I can do. It would very quickly result in a different and much more unpleasant method of my demise.”

“Gotcha.”

“The other vault hunters are making plans to rescue us. Sooner rather than later.”

“Where are you?”

“Something called ‘Carnivora.’ It’s actually very impressive for a bunch of fanatically insane bandits. Are you nearby?”

“Doubt it… someplace underground? Couldn’t really tell you otherwise. Wasn’t awake for the trip.”

“Well, that would explain why Lilith said they couldn’t track your ECHO.”

 _Well... it was_ one _of the reasons, anywho._

Heavy footsteps echoed outside of the room, and Troy emerged into the candlelight, accompanied by a brute of a man close at his heels.

“Uh... gotta go, T. lt’s gonna get reaaaal distracting in me head for a while, so you’d best skedaddle.”

“Stay alive, vault hunter.”

“Yeah… that’s the plan.”

“So…” Speaking aloud this time, Zane sneered at the siren twin. “…had to bring help, didya?”

“Nah… see, the other day, Ty promised he could have some fun with you, so he’s here for the after-party.” Hands on his knees, Troy bent over to examine the injured operative, giving a low whistle. “Boy, they did a number on you. I like the improvements. Purple and red are definitely your colors. But you know… looks like the gang missed something here.” Troy reached out and clutched the operative’s eyepatch delicately between metal fingers and pulled, testing.

“No no no nonoNO…there’s a catch, there’s a _catch_!” Zane hated himself a little bit for the rise in his voice at the end, but really, if the kid wanted to be rid of the tech, this was not the easiest way to do it. _Which was, of course, the point, ya daft git._

“There’s always a catch.” The pierced twin stopped the gentle pull, tightened his grip, and yanked. The patch came free with a flash of sparks, a whiff of ozone from burned connector circuits, and a fine spray of blood. “Oh…you meant _that_ kind of catch!” Troy laughed, crushing the tiny bit of metal and circuitry in his fist.

 _Of course it’s that kind of catch, ya fecking cunt. And dammit, those things are not mass produced!_ He was proud of that one, too…it had taken weeks of careful programming for some of the new upgrades he’d put in. Blood ran down his eyelid and pooled in the corner of his white orb before joining the droplets below to roll down his cheek and stain his beard with a new red stripe. At this point, he wondered if he had any actual visible pale flesh left that wasn’t either a multicolor rainbow of bruises or covered in drying flakes of his own blood.

Troy leaned in even closer, roughly taking the operative’s chin in hand, turning his head this way and that before letting out a long whistle. “That’s actually a hell of an impressive scar. Never seen a blind man this close up. How’d you lose it? Got too close to an assassinee? Jilted lover? Oh, oh! I know! Jilted lover’s cuckolded spouse, am I right?”

“Me big brother.” He was honestly too tired to make up some mocking story, and he’d stopped being angry about it a long time ago. Besides, it was common enough knowledge that Captain was a spiteful motherfucker. “Burned it out with a white-hot blade when we was kids.”

“Oooh… nice! What’d you do to piss him off?”

 _Existed. Breathed the same air. Shared the same last name. Had more brains in me head._ Or maybe just because Captain was one of those people that only wanted to watch the world burn…much like the Calypsos. Maybe that was why he was having so much trouble outmaneuvering their methods and their minions. He’d been a little hellion, too…all the Flynts were… but more often than not, he was just Captain’s victim. When he’d left Pandora for the last time, he swore he’d never be anyone’s victim ever again. Yet here he was…shot, beaten, chained, and having his scars cooed over by a psychopath...it was a little too close to home. “Not a feckin’ thing.”

“Harsh.” Troy was leaning in close enough to kiss, and before Zane could try to pull away, had licked the fresh blood from the operative’s cheek. “I wish we could have met.”

“You really don’t. Captain was a bastard and a half. To _everyone_.”

“Now I _really_ do. Anyone who can do that kind of damage to their own family...” He let go of Zane’s chin and stood up suddenly. "You know, I think me torturing you more today isn’t going to be much fun. I’d rather just watch.” Stepping to the side, he called over his shoulder. “Hey, Bruno! He’s all yours!”

Zane hadn’t actually gotten a good look at the bruiser before, but as he lumbered over, cracking his knuckles, he realized he remembered the name.

"Hey, little pretty man."

_Oh...shite…_


	5. Victim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which withdrawal makes normal torture seem pretty much pointless.
> 
> Warnings: Implied non-con, abuse, abuse language, bullying, violence, emotional trauma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've rewritten this three times now, and it just keeps getting longer and darker. I'm sorry.

Everything hurt.

_Ev-er-y-thing, thank you very much. No, NOT thank you. Fuck you. For all your fecked-up decisions up to this point. For mocking when you should have kept yer fucking mouth shut. You should have bitten off his little pecker, even if it meant getting yer head squished like an overripe melon. Fecking eejit._

“Shut up.” Yes, he said it out loud. To the voices in his head. Unfortunately, they weren’t slowing down and had been haranguing him for the last several hours. One of the many, many joys of being tortured was the sheer boredom of the in-between times. It was a great trick when trying to pull information from a captive… but that wasn’t the case here. He was bored _and_ sober, which meant all the things he usually did to silence his own thoughts were not in reach. Here he was, in all his glory, sitting in his own blood and filth and all the bodily fluids from the last round of the ‘after-party’ as Troy so delicately called it, and _now_ was when the voices decided to speak up. Not before, which would have been a blessing. Not during. _Now._

His arms were already shaking, partially from being stretched to their limits for so long, and part of him knew that the bad shakes were about to start. The small motion rattled the chains against the cage bars just enough to be annoying.

_‘Zane… oh Zaaaay-aaaane! Come out and take yer beatin’ like a man!’ The growling bass rumble of his older brother, searching for where he was hiding. He knew the beating would be worse the longer it took for Captain to find him, but he was also getting better at eluding the monster. He was getting better at it, but the beatings were getting more and more destructive. He’d just gotten his arm out of a brace not even a week ago, and here he was, tempting fate again. He held his breath and closed his eyes, willing his tormentor to just pass by…but a meaty fist busted out the planks beneath him, grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him down through the splintering wood with a shriek of pain and terror at what was going to happen this time around._

He shook his head and willed away the memory. He could almost feel the thrashing that Captain had given him like it was fresh and not a simply a mental scar from over forty years past. “Feck off!”

 _Walking into the little apartment, he couldn’t wait to surprise her with the flowers. So he was a romantic slob, so what? Plus, he’d gotten away on leave while his team debriefed and got some much needed downtime from their last job. The company actually paid well and didn’t treat them like slaves in the process… of course, he_ was _on one of their most elite teams, so why wouldn’t they be good to their most valued people who did the unspeakable things no one else wanted to dirty their hands with._

_“Lila! Yer favorite marksman is home!”_

_It was quiet at a time of day when it shouldn’t be quiet. Lila didn’t like the silence when she was alone, so there were always sounds of the telly or the radio. He imagined walking into the kitchen and surprising her with a hug, then sweeping her into his arms to dance to whatever was on the radio._

_“Lila?”_

_What he walked into was a scene that took him far too long to process._

_Blink. Blood spattered on the wall. Blink. Blood pooling on the floor and one small, dainty foot soaking in it. Blink. The foot was not connected to any other parts. Blink. Parts… scattered…Blink._

_When he was finally able to breathe again, when his brain managed to re-engage, he dropped the flowers on the floor, and turned to walk out…he didn’t stop to take anything..didn’t pause to look at the corner they were converting into a nursery. Their landlord was in the hall blabbering something about a party in the apartment the day before and how many neighbors had complained about the noise. Zane didn’t really hear it, couldn’t focus past the howling in his head…_

Zane banged his head against the bars, trying to play keep-away with memories long-buried, a pained whine escaping from his throat. “Shut up, shut up, _SHUT UP!”_

The tone of his shout brought his new COV guards into the room, exchanging confused looks with each other since their hostage was still securely chained. He must have looked quite the demented old man at this point, yelling at himself. After the last escape, he now had permanent rotations of babysitters waiting outside ‘just in case.’ It wasn’t a surprise; it would just mean he’d have to time the next attempt a lot more carefully…especially since he wasn’t exactly going to be escaping with a spring in his step.

_‘Yer a little bastard! I will kill ya when I catch ya, ye little shite!’ The kid was a sprinter, so much faster than his lumbering brother. The problem was that Captain invariably caught up. This time, though, he was actually going to make it… until he was clotheslined by an unyielding arm as he ducked around the corner of the house. Choking on his own breath, he was hauled to his feet by an iron grip on his arm, another hand digging in his pocket._

_‘Come on, kid.’ Baron muttered. ‘What’d you take this time?’_

_‘Nothin’, I swear!’ He struggled in his eldest brother’s grasp, increasingly desperate to get away as he heard Captain wheezing along, getting closer by the second._

_The rummaging hand came up with a folded blade and waved it in front of young Zane’s wide blue eyes. ‘Nothin’, huh?’_

_‘I was just gonna borrow it!’ He struggled more in Baron’s tight grip. ‘Please… you can’t let him catch me! Let go!’_

_‘Borrow it. To what? Shank him in his sleep? Can’t let you do that, kiddo.’_

“Leave me alone! I’m not yer fecking VICTIM!” The exclamation was followed immediately by a wave of nausea, and he just barely managed to turn his head aside enough to avoid puking in his lap. There wasn’t much to come up anymore… Food was not especially high on the COV-prisoner priority list, and at least half of what the cultists brought him had to be on a dare or a bet to see what he would be desperate enough to let them force down his throat. Being Pandoran originally, much of what they brought wasn’t really all that weird except to outsiders, but it was a partial blessing that he didn’t have much to forcibly dispel now. The downside was that his body didn’t care, forcing him to retch until his throat burned with bile.

_‘What do you care? You’re not the one he takes everything out on!’ He was digging his heels in now, trying to yank his arm free even if it meant dislocating it in the process._

_‘Yeah, but sometimes you deserve it.’ Baron turned the youth with a practiced ease, spinning him by the arm almost like a dance partner, but instead of ending with a romantic dip, it ended with his youngest sibling in a chokehold, and he impassively waited until Captain finally caught up. Zane did not wait so calmly, fear enveloping him as he watched Captain loping up the final few strides, then even longer catching his breath with his hands on his knees. The entire time, Zane struggled and kicked and cursed, throwing elbows and kicking at kneecaps._

_‘Here,’ Baron drawled, handing the knife over. ‘He had this.’ Captain took it with a growl, flicking the blade open to examine it and make sure it wasn’t damaged in any way._

_‘I oughta gut you with it like the slimy little skag you are.’_

_Zane screamed and spit and struggled until Baron let him go with such a sudden release that he lurched forward…right into Captain’s waiting arms. ‘Yer gonna pay, you little shite.’_

_‘Don’t kill him.’ That was all Baron had to say on the matter._

“I’m not yer fecking victim…” Zane wheezed out again. He needed a drink. Even water would be welcome to help clear out the burning irritation in his throat. It didn’t help that it felt like the rest of him was shaking…it rapidly turned the slowed-down seep of blood from the two newest holes in his leg into running rivulets again. _Thank you very much, Tyreen fucking Calypso._

One of the cultists gestured to the other with a quick jerk of his head toward the door, who sprinted out like his life depended on it. It very well might have… the God-Queen had explicitly said that the heretic couldn’t die yet. But she had also said not to give their captive any hypos or pills… no health, no painkillers, no hard drugs, _nothing_. No one had been in since Troy and Bruno left the other night, but something was definitely wrong with the vault thief now. Either that, or he was an absolutely amazing actor to be able to puke that painfully on command and then turn that particular shade of pale.

_‘You thought I forgot about you, didn’t ya, boy.’ It wasn’t a question Captain posed to him… or at least one that he expected an answer to. Captain had him pinned, sitting high on his chest so that his sweaty crotch was way too close to his face. But it also meant that his shoulders were pinned by an enormous pair of legs and his head was caught in between Captain’s thighs. He couldn’t move except to kick and flail uselessly…didn’t have the strength or the leverage to shove his brother off, and he had the sinking feeling that this was going to be so much worse than all the other times brother dearest had vented his anger on the baby of the family._

“Leave me the fuck ALONE!”

_He watched the corporate thugs going down the line of hostages, pausing behind each, then putting a bullet in the back of the head. Every shot was like a knife in his heart. One by one, informants and ‘traitors’ were retired in a very permanent way. The rifle scope only made it that much more graphic…he could see the expressions of fear and the moment their eyes went dead. But this was the contract…he had to wait for their CEO to pop out first. If he blew away a goon for taking out innocents, it would give away his position and weeks of work to get to here…_

The pair of COV peered anxiously around their god-king, who knelt in front of the shivering, muttering operative. “He got the look like he’s goin’ through withdrawal and shit,” one of them offered, “My mate used to do some serious meds, and he went rakkshit crazy like that… talking to himself, pukin’ and sweatin’ and shakin’ all over.”

The Father was not impressed, glowering down at the delirious operative. “So the vault thief is a junkie. What… you thought we’d want to stream it or something?”

_He was choking… despite his best efforts, he had a nose full of water that was burning his sinuses and trying to fool his body into taking a deep breath to clear it. Captain held his head deep under the surface of the water barrel, bent over the metal edge with his brother’s full weight holding him down. Family had come visiting from the nearby Zaford compound when Captain chose to take out his irritation on darling baby bro. Two of their cousins were hollering for help as they tried frantically to pull Captain off of him._

He was choking, barely conscious, oblivious to his surroundings now. Bloody spittle gathered at the corner of his mouth, teeth clenched together as if they were glued shut. No one could save him from the things he’d done to himself to forget how he’d grown up…to forget all the people he swore he never actually cared about…to forget all the death and human destruction his own hands had wrought.

“Well, now he’s having a seizure. Shit. I used to have these when Ty and me were kids… go get me a health vial.”

“Uh…But the God-Queen said...”

“Did I fucking stutter? NOW! Or do _you_ want to explain to her why you let her pet heretic die on _your_ watch?”

_He was running out of air…right in the middle of a whole pack of cousins and he was going to die at Captain’s hand. No one was going to save him. For the second time in his too short existence, his life flashed in front of his eyes, and it wasn’t worth the rewatch…. His brother carving his initials into his back…being hung upside down from the rafters until he passed out… Captain holding him down after everyone else had gone to bed, face pressed so deeply into the pillow he thought he’d stop breathing…_

Deep in the grip of the seizure, a victim after all, even if it was of his own life’s excess, his eyes rolled back till both were matching white orbs.

And he stopped breathing…


	6. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meltdowns, accusations, and reminiscing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit more emotional... needed a bit of a 'breather' but it still doesn't end well, despite my best efforts to write a little lighter. I am apparently a sucker for the angst.

“Father Troy!” The cultist darted through the door, arms waving in excitement before realizing he was in the presence of both of the Twin Gods. He skidded to a halt, eyes wide and dropped to his knees hard enough to elicit a wince from the taller sibling. “Forgive me for intruding. I did not mean…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” Tyreen waved a hand, already bored with the display. “Get to the point already.”

“The lure for the vault thieves… it worked… but… there is something you should see.” The cultist flinched back as his God-Queen scowled at him.

“What. Went. _Wrong_?”

“Nnn…nothing, your Worshipfullness. They have departed, and our teams are clearing out the bodies. It’s… well… you need to see the feed for yourself.” Despite his fear, the cultist was grinning. At Tyreen’s nod, he scrambled to his feet, leading the way back to the security scanners at an excited jog.

It had been a gamble to lure the thieves into their compound with a false trail of eridium stockpiles, but it would give the pretenders a hollow victory to make them feel like they’d struck a blow…and would make their final defeat all the more glorious. Their real stockpile was safely tucked away elsewhere, and despite their priests’ pleas for the twins to move somewhere safer, they stuck around to watch the vault hunters debate and bicker among themselves on the little security screens. The cohesive unit the heretics used to be was now jarringly uncoordinated, each member acting as an individual and not as a functioning team. After watching for 20 minutes, Troy yawned and wandered back to the common rooms deeper within the compound. Tyreen followed soon after, disappointed in the performance. They would have plenty of warning if the raiders actually grew a brain between them and wandered into more secured areas, but this was just boooooring.

“Behold!” The cultist plunked into his seat at the control board, pointing at a playback monitor. It showed three of the vault thieves sneaking down a hallway, followed closely by a tamed skag. As they passed a side hall, the skag stopped suddenly, sniffing the air, head tilting this way and that.

“Okaaaaay. Vault thieves. So what? It’s more of the same. I thought you had something good to show us.”

“No, God-Queen, it's not them… it’s _where_ they are.” Both twins leaned in closer to peer at the monitor.

The skag ran to catch up with his master, barking excitedly and catching the back of its coat in his teeth, pulling. The tall robot turned and shooed him away. “Hush, boy. You will alert the guards.” Growling, the skag bit into the arm of its jacket and pulled again, insistent. The robot yanked his arm away with a grunt, pointing a finger at the skag, then in front of the group. “Go scout ahead.” The skag actually looked like he was sulking, head down and tail between his legs as he gave one last look to the hallway behind them and then trotted forward where his master directed him.

Troy had his hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Holy shit…!”

Ty punched him on the shoulder, giggling uncontrollably. “Go go go… you _have_ to cut this together and send it! This is the best thing ever!”

_______________

The Partalian siren sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, breathing deeply and trying to meditate.

It wasn’t working.

With a long sigh, she opened her eyes, not to the soft purple glow of her room, but the somber blue orderly disorder belonging to their absent operative. She wasn’t sure why she was here and not in her own room except that she needed some kind of comfort in his presence…and this was as close as she was going to get.

It wasn’t the first video they’d received from the COV. The twins seemed to delight in showing the rest of the vault hunters how sadistic they could be. Tyreen always ended it with a close-up, sneering smile, reminding them to “like, share, and fuck off… or else.” The ‘or else’ always seemed overkill with what they’d already done to their captive. All of those playbacks were sent only to the Crimson Raiders (they hoped), but a few were broadcast live for all their followers to see.

Except for this one… as bad as the others had been, as graphic and heart-breaking, this one was _devastating_ , and instead of ending with a sign-off, it ended with the twins holding hands and dancing in a circle together, voices chanting a sing-song, “You fuuucked uuu-uuup! You fuuucked uuu-uuup!” in between peals of taunting laughter. This one, like the videos about the sirens, was sent to the entire ECHOnet and had already garnered millions of views and likes and was on a repeat playback until Lilith finally shut down all of Sanctuary’s wifi in disgust.

It was a semi-grainy security playback of cuts of the vault hunters trekking through the COV compound, guns at the ready, stopping to argue about which way to go…different views as the cameras switched feeds from one to another…Mr. Chew trying desperately to get their attention, and how they had been too focused on their goal to actually pay attention.

“But wait, Children! That’s not the best part!” Troy’s voiceover cut in and the feed went to full color. The twin gods were standing in the same hall, from the same angle as the security footage. The drone swung down to fly the viewer from the corridor into the hall the vault hunters had passed by. It wasn’t well lit, and it paused in front of a nondescript door near the end. Troy unlocked and opened it with a flourish, letting the drone fly in, light the room and hover over the prone and unconscious form of their missing teammate. He looked like death had visited recently, eyelids dark and sunken, pale, thin, haggard and bruised…but breathing.

Mere steps away from where the vault hunters had passed by, angry, off their game, and oblivious.

At the sound of the Calypsos collapsing into peals of mocking laughter, Ava fled to her room in tears and locked the door behind her. Moze had screamed a lot of garbled nonsense mixed with some rather impressive curses, and stormed off after flinging her helmet at Claptrap, not even staying to watch it bounce off of his head and break off his precious replacement antenna. Even FL4K was moping in their room, discovering the extremely unpleasant side of being sentient and having to deal with actual human emotions like guilt.

Amara had retreated here, waiting for the tears to flow, but she was still in shock. If they’d been distracted by Zane’s absence, watching that had been the kick while they were down. Even some of Sanctuary’s citizens were giving them disbelieving and disappointed looks in the corridors. In the space of less than five minutes, the vault hunters had gone from heroes to humiliated.

There was no feeling of _rightness_ to anything since they’d lost both Zane and Tannis to the Calypsos. Tannis was back among them after the team wrecked Carnivora, but Zane still wasn’t. The vault hunters had all expected the two of them to be together in their captivity and threatened doom, but the secret siren had no idea where their teammate was being held. She seemed actually distraught when she found out they hadn’t already rescued him or that he hadn’t managed to escape on his own, fully expecting him to be with the rest of the team just like always.

Lilith kept telling them they had to focus on the mission, that Zane was a professional and could take care of himself till they could split the resources to find him. Amara had actually called bullshit on that line of thinking. Their teammate was gone… being cut, shot, tortured, raped and humiliated for all of the COV to watch and rewatch. If any of the other team members had been MIA, especially like _that_ , Zane would have been the first one out the door to rescue them, kicking in teeth and exploding heads, and to hell with anyone who tried to tell him to wait till they knew more.

She reached out to pick up one of his shirts off the floor, holding it in both hands before lifting it to her nose to inhale deeply. It had a whiff of stale sweat, but beneath it was still the lingering scent of him... she couldn’t describe it to anyone else… it was just _his_ … but there was no comfort in it now. The two of them had fallen into an easy sort of relationship…opposites did indeed attract. One slightly tipsy night and a lot of teasing from everyone who had been in earshot for a week after, and they’d settled into a quiet, casual friends-with-benefits routine. It made his kidnapping and continuing torment that much more agonizing.

A knock at the door made her raise her head with a snap, not realizing how deeply she’d been lost in missing her partner. If he was on the ship, she had no problem kicking off her boots at the door and flinging herself into his bunk to read or meditate until he sauntered in soon after, dastardly smirk quirking up the corners of his lips, ready with a laugh that echoed off the bulkheads and announced his presence to everyone.

“Hey, sugar. I saw the light on under the door.” Moxxi stood in the entry for a moment before coming inside, looking around like she’d never seen the inside before. She walked over to the guns displayed on one wall, making a show of examining them, a deep frown marring her usually sultry expression. Maybe she _hadn’t_ been here before… she didn’t make it a habit to come visiting the vault hunters after hours. They usually came to see her…or to see her bar, anyway.

“I can’t focus. We deserve all the shit we’re getting right now.” Amara self-consciously tossed the shirt back onto the floor. The man seriously needed to do his laundry… and just the thought of something as simple as chores made her eyes well up. It was always the stupid things that finally got you, the insignificant details that made up a person that made their absence suddenly real. “He was right there, and we were…” She choked on the last word… so many things that could describe it… _stupid, careless, arrogant, self-centered, selfish, oblivious, idiots…failures._

The barkeep sashayed to the bunk and smoothed out a section of the sheets before sitting, looking down at Amara with a heavy sadness in her eyes. “No one knew, sugar. It’s not your fault.”

“It still feels like it. It was a set-up, and we fell right into it.” The siren looked up into the barkeep’s heavily kohled eyes. “When he sees it… he’s not going to forgive any of us. We were all just starting to become a real team… we were unstoppable, and now…”

“Now you’re remembering that you are all still just people. It’s humbling, but it’s not the end. Besides, the Flynts have an annoying tendency to be stubbornly resilient.” When Amara gave her a skeptical look, she sighed softly. “I grew up on Pandora, too. _Everyone_ has a story about the Flynt family…if it wasn’t about being terrorized by one of them, it was about how stubborn, mean, cruel, egotistical, or crazy they were.”

“So you _did_ remember him from before.”

She gave the tiniest of sly smiles. “I wasn’t going to give the high and mighty Zane Flynt any more of an ego than he already had when he strutted through the docking bay for the first time…but he’s one of the good ones, sugar.” She sighed wistfully. “I didn’t know him when he was a boy, but I do know he’s nothing like his brothers.” She considered her words for a moment. “Okay, maybe he’s just as crazy, but that’s it.”

“How do you even know this?”

She smiled again. “I know how to read people, sugar. Flynt is a loner and a cold-blooded killer through-and-through, but he doesn’t abandon the few people he lets close enough to call friends…as aloof as he pretends to be.” The smile faded, and she reached up to undo the elaborate pins in her headdress, letting her hair fall. It was a vulnerable act, one that the businesswoman rarely showed. “Zane doesn’t leave his friends, and we don’t either. It’s time to stop dancing around the Calypsos and acting like we’re afraid of a couple of snot-nosed, self-important _brats_.”

“I don’t think any of us knows how after this.” She groaned, running her hands down her face in frustration. “It’s been too quiet all over. It feels like everything is holding its breath.” The booming laughter that rang through the halls, the obnoxiously loud stories, self-deprecating humor and eye-rollingly bad Zane-jokes, the sound of a plinking piano echoing from the little stage in the bar, the whir of a drone up and down the decks and the screeching laughter of the kids chasing after it. The silence was draining morale, and the whole ship felt it. “I actually thought you were going to come in here and tell me that he was a big boy and could take care of himself.” She was embarrassed by the bite in her tone, and it wasn’t really directly at Moxxi.

The Pandoran shrugged it off. “Under normal circumstances, yes. But Lilith, Maya, Tannis… _none_ of them could handle the Calypsos, and he’s…well, he’s still only human. A very frustrating, arrogant, talented, and gorgeous human… ” 

Amara cleared her throat to bring Moxxi back from her drifting and slightly uncomfortable thoughts. “Normal circumstances? What exactly _are_ normal circumstances where he’s concerned?”

Moxxi chuckled, a smile that worry kept from touching her eyes, even though she sounded genuinely amused. “Point taken. We can’t wait for Lilith to decide the time is right…and Zane doesn’t much care for her anyway.”

“He doesn’t?”

“You really haven’t noticed how he shows up late to crew meetings and never just stays around to chat with her.”

“Uh… because he’s not a morning person…. And he doesn’t talk to her…because… yeah…I’ve got nothin’. Zane talks to _everyone_. Huh…” Zane _would_ talk with anyone who would listen to him…or at least he would when he wasn’t in the midst of one of his introvert shut-downs. They were rare, but there were definitely times when he just had to get away from everyone for a while and recharge. No one else would ever believe he wasn’t a raging extrovert, but she’d seen the results of too much spotlight… it was exhausting for him to be “Zane” around other people every day all day, to give and give and not get or expect anything else in return, to put oneself on the front lines so others wouldn’t get hurt, to drive himself to be better because no one else would.

And the constant energy… either he was going a hundred miles per hour or if he had to sit in one place for too long (and wasn’t on a job or working at his workbench) he’d start some nervous tick like bouncing his knee or tapping his fingers. More often than not, he’d just suddenly get up and either turn himself into the center of attention or make a few joking excuses about getting old and bail out completely… she’d asked him about it once when they were having an actual quiet moment, snuggled sleepily in his embrace…one of the few times he’d open up, otherwise, it was only when he was drunk and morose. Why he was always going until he simply dropped from exhaustion and then didn’t crawl out of his room for two or three days. Back then, she thought he’d simply deflected with a flip remark, but now that she knew him more, she realized how achingly truthful it had been.

“Because when I slow down, I have to start livin’ in me own head.”

Moxxi was right. 

“Okay, Mox, but you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have an idea.”

“Yes… yes, I do.”

__________________

Coming back to awareness was slow…and oddly painful. Even the chemical aftertaste of an insta-health didn’t cut out the ache, which meant he’d only been given enough to keep from dying. Groaning, he tried to sit up, but it was really too much effort. He felt like he should be dead…maybe he had been. It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if the Calypsos had just decided it was more fun to torture him to death, then bring him back with a shot of adrenaline and enough chemicals to mend the superficial damage before starting the process over again. _No…that wasn’t right._ He remembered that the shakes had started, and after that, it was a blur of puking and waking nightmares. Whatever sense of time he’d kept before was now completely blown. He had no idea how long that self-inflicted shite had lasted or how long he’d been out since then.

This place was different, though. There was no smell of rotting flesh or mix of old and new blood. He didn’t even offend as much, so they must have at least doused him with a few buckets of water before tossing him here. “Here” was also cold and noisy… voices that he couldn’t concentrate on, strange noises, music…something playing on a loop, but if it was the radio, it was shite.

With a grunt of pain, he rolled onto his back, rattling chains as he moved. Taking an internal inventory, nothing felt like it was openly bleeding, but whatever they’d given him hadn’t been enough to start healing bones. His leg was splinted, but from the shooting fire up his spine when he moved there was no damned way he was walking on it without help. He raised his hands… metal manacles chained his hands together, giving him a tiny bit of freedom, but not much.

Light flickered on his eyelids, so he cracked his eye open hesitantly, afraid of being blinded by too much light at once. But it was dim in this room, a crawling feeling of claustrophobia seeping in at the edges of his awareness. The room he'd been in with cages and alters was at least open and bright… this was cramped and sparse. _Solitary._

Except solitary didn’t typically have a telly. This one did, playing some Calypso video on a loop. All he could catch was the two of them laughing hysterically and singing some kid’s song like they were twelve instead of the psychotic adults they actually were. He groaned again. _Awesome_ … it had progressed from physical torture into mental. At least they’d given him a bit of modesty back with a pair of scuffed jeans, patched and faded… he’d probably fit right in with the rest of the bandit/cultists.

Still feeling physically strung out, he closed his eyes again, drifting to the repeating video… until a familiar voice snapped him awake, jerking his attention to the screen.

“Hush, boy. You’ll alert the guards.”

“Come ON! We’re going to lose the element of surprise.”

“Go scout ahead, Chew.”

He held his breath… was this _live_?? _No_ … disappointment sunk his heart into his stomach. The team had been caught on a mission… he froze as Troy popped onscreen and showed where they had been. He wasn't sure what he expected, but this wasn't it...stunned, shock short-circuiting his thoughts for a moment, watching the replay twice more before it sunk in. He had been here… right _here_ when his teammates had been just a few paces outside and didn’t know. _They didn't know... they didn't stop..._

Something inside his brain snapped… the ridiculousness of the situation…that if they’d just detoured for a _minute_ he’d be free now…the unending bad timing and worse luck…his complete inability to just shut his smart-ass fecking mouth to save his own skin…and he snorted out a laugh _._ _Oh, Zaneboy, you’re in the shite now._ But he couldn’t stop now that the first guffaw was hanging there in the air, full-blown laughter roaring out in an unstoppable, hysterical torrent, covering his face with his hands until it became a howl filled with helpless rage and undirected, unintended betrayal... full voice to the anguish he’d held up till now, punctuated by the taunting laughter of the Calypsos from the flickering screen.

At the entry, the Calypsos stood shoulder-to-shoulder, peering in through the slot in the heavy door, watching the elder vault hunter having a hysteria-laden meltdown.

“Brrrrrrokeeeeeennnn.” Troy snickered quietly, as the Twin Gods bumped fists in victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this came from the number of times I found myself wrapped up in story and combat, only to look back at the area map and realize how little I'd actually managed to explore the first time through. 
> 
> And I know it's a tiny little thing in this story, but I'm not going deep into the whole Zane/Amara thing. The last time I played, I will SWEAR up and down that Amara had a case of Swamp Bloom Ale under a table in her room, and it just made me think that either she is a secret alcoholic, or that she was keeping it for a frequently visiting Zane. Other writers in this fandom have done their relationship SO much better than I ever could, so it's just a mention here, but it seemed to fit. It's my head-canon, anyway. :D


	7. Free Your Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dashed hopes and plans made.
> 
> Warnings: Violence, non-con

Things had been a blur lately, so much so that Zane was starting to wonder if he wasn’t just in some big hallucination. Something had definitely short-circuited in the ol’ noggin, and honestly, it was a bit of a relief to be in blackout mode…he just wished that ‘drunk’ preceded the ‘blackout’ part.

The cell he was in was either constantly playing CoV videos on the mounted screen or broadcasting CoV radio through the speakers. It was impossible to escape it, but it had also become a garbled blur of images and sounds…torment on repeat until it, too, was meaningless.

He vaguely remembered a couple of cultists dragging him out into the brightness and heat of the Pandoran sunlight, then was shoved forward almost off the edge of the raised platform. Maybe it was intentional, maybe they’d expected him to stand and legitimately forgot that they’d shattered his knee… _yeah, right._ If his hands weren’t chained together and one of them broken, he might have been able to catch himself, but instead fell in an ungraceful heap, accompanied by a yelp of pain.

Tyreen was shouting something that sounded vaguely inspirational at the gathered CoV minions, and they were cheering. One of their annoying little drones buzzed around, whirring and humming as it focused on him, then flew off again. He couldn’t really bring himself to care, even when Troy lifted his head by his hair to show him off to the camera, then bounced him down to the wooden surface hard enough that the vault hunter saw stars. 

________

“Welcome back, followers! It’s time to announce the high bids of our ‘Who Wants To Own a Vault Thief’ competition!”

When the video started auto-play, taking over their ECHO devices, Amara absently started chewing on her nails. Moxxi tutted at her, a confident smile on her painted lips, leaning her hip against the edge of the bar. “We’ve got this, sugar.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“We talked about this. Between all of us, he’ll be back with us before nightfall.”

Amara eyed her for a moment, doubtful, but the video was continuing and drew her gaze back to the stuttering feed. Her shirtless partner was being dragged out by a collar, chains around his neck which connected to his hands, and she could tell already that something was off. Sucking in a breath as Troy flung him carelessly on the stage, making the vault hunter stagger and stumble a couple of steps before collapsing at the edge of the platform, she couldn’t help but notice the rough splint on his leg that didn’t help his stance in the slightest.

“Gods, Zane… what else have they done to you?” Her eyes flickered over him as the drone flew over, giving her a good look at all the new scars, still angry and barely healed. Her heart sank when he didn’t move from the position he’d been thrown into, and an unconscious whine escaped her throat as the drone flew past and centered on the god-queen. Moxxi reached across to cover her hand in a comforting gesture.

“We had three companies that outbid our wildest expectations, with over thirty corporations and private enterprises that also entered a bid!” The god-queen looked off camera. “Wow…you’re a popular one, aren’t you?” She gave a sneer, then put on her social-media persona again, all devilish grins and sweeping gestures as her followers cheered and hooted in the background.

“In third place… Atlas Corp, pretending to be someone else! Aww… sorry Rice Stringfuck!” She glanced off screen with a scowl. “What do you mean that’s not right? Well, I can’t read your handwriting!” With a snarl, she recovered her on-screen composure and continued like she’d never been interrupted. “Nice try, but didn’t Maliwan drive you to the brink of bankruptcy? And even if they didn’t break you, you’re crazy if you think that we’d be so blissfully ignorant to hand over one of your known allies. Too bad, so sad!” Troy was snickering over her shoulder, making mocking crying faces at the camera, rubbing away fake tears.

“Fuck…” Amara said under her breath.

“It’s alright, sugar. We expected it. One obviously false entry so they would know we were at least going to try it.”

Tannis slid into the seat next to Amara without a word, chewing on her bottom lip and switching off her own ECHO feed to continue watching on the monitor above the bar.

“Second highest bid on the vault thief… Jakobs!” Troy rolled his eyes, and made gagging gestures. “But since we just had our relations with Eden-6 disrupted, we’re disqualifying this bid because it was _not_ placed by the actual CEO, the late Aurelia Hammerlock. Oh, well… better luck next time, idiots!” Both of the twins flipped the bird to the camera to the appreciative roars of their followers.

Moxxi squeezed Amara’s hand gently, taking a deep breath of her own, staying outwardly calm even though her heart was thudding almost painfully in her chest.

“And finally, the top bid belongs to a corporate team-up…. man, you guys want him _bad_ , don’t you? Whatever he did to all of you bidders… wow. Just _wow_.” The drone swung down to recenter on the vault hunter as Troy crouched down behind him, yanking his head upward to show the virtual audience his grizzled and sunken features.

Amara stopped biting her nails and started chewing on her knuckle as she got a good look at how much he looked like he’d aged… full beard instead of the obsessively groomed goatee, lengthening silver hair fallen into his dark-circled eyes which were unfocused and distant. She swallowed hard. “He’s… not even there.”

“Of course he’s there,” Tannis piped up, “Physically, it’s quite impossible for him not to be. Although there are some interesting studies with...” Moxxi cut her off with a click of her tongue and a shake of her head. She wasn’t irritated at Tannis’ outburst, knowing that the doc tended to tactlessly ramble on with some philosophical or random scientific musing when she was uncomfortable and nervous, but it wasn’t helping right now.

“Highest bidders are… Torgue, with Marcus Munitions!”

“Yes!” Moxxi breathed a sigh of relief. She’d spent some time negotiating that little deal, and promising to cover most of Marcus’ portion of the bid, especially if a job she had in mind after this worked out. 

“Buuut… you know… after our last romp with the Crimson Morons…who run the area where our favorite arms dealer is headquartered… hmmm.” She held a finger against her cheek with an exaggerated pout and rolled her eyes upward like she was thinking about it. “Not sure about this one!" The cultists gave her a well-timed cheer. "Plus, after looking at the winners lists for the Torgue Circles of Slaughter…” Troy pointed at the dazed vault hunter with a faux-impressed and exaggerated nod. “…we decided we’ll keep him around a while longer instead. He’s just _too_ much fun.” Troy turned Zane’s head toward his and planted a long, sloppy kiss on his lips before bouncing his skull off the rough planks of the stage with enough force that the vault hunter audibly grunted from the impact. “We’ll think about sending our winners a nice consolation prize… maybe a finger or some other unnecessary part. So, till next time, don’t forget to like, follow, and obey!”

“NO!” Amara was on her feet, slamming her fists down on the bartop and glaring daggers at the screen as if she could kill both of the Calypsos through the ECHOnet with the heat of her hatred alone.

“Shit. I’m sorry, sugar.”

_____________

“You!” Tyreen pointed at a cluster of followers, then gestured to the vault hunter still on the stage. “Take him, clean him up, give him a shave, and bring him back to my quarters.” She eyed the unresponsive heretic on the stage with a smirk. “Leave the chains on.”

One of them ran forward, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him back into the compound.

He didn’t move fast enough or even register the cultist’s irritation at him until the entitled bastard cracked the butt of the pistol across his jaw.

For just a brief moment, he saw red and a lifetime of reflex took over…

When he was aware of his actions again, he was straddling the green-haired cultist, hands bathed in blood from the minon’s eyes bursting under his thumbs, and his shoulder stung from yet another new bullet from one of the other followers. Zane didn't even remember feeling it hit.

Tyreen snagged him with her powers, flung the orb upward, then yanked it down with a hard swing of her arm, releasing it just before it crashed to the stage. The operative took the entire brunt of the momentum, slamming into the floor with a bone-crunching thud. _Feck me…_ He spit blood on the planks, lifting himself up with his elbows, but Tyreen was already moving forward, swinging a booted foot and connecting hard with his already sore jaw.

She was on him immediately, boot on his throat, snarling down at him.

“What you need to get used to, _Flynt_ , is that you’re only alive because I _allow_ it. She leered down at him. “And here I thought we were starting to understand each other.”

He just closed his eyes, the fight instinct gone as fast as it had emerged, willing this nightmare to go away.

_____________

Tannis and Moxxi hovered over the miniature hologram of Atlas’ CEO. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Sorry. I was hoping one of us would slip past. We even used a false ID to put in the bid. State-of-the-art hack, and they picked it apart anyway.”

“It’s alright, sugar. We figured they’d see through that one, anyway, but have a chance with the others since Jakobs, Marcus, and Torgue are usually neutral parties.” Moxxi frowned. “But we need to do _something_. We’re losing battles, the rest of the vault hunters are distracted and angry… one of them accidentally destroyed Marcus’ target range while letting off steam after the broadcast, and, well… to be brutally honest, Lilith is staring down a potential mutiny if we don’t find him soon.”

Shoulders sagging, Rhys squirmed uncomfortably. “I want to help, but I can’t really send a team all the way to Pandora. It's a big place, and we’re still spread thin cleaning up the stray Maliwan soldiers and trying to rebuild the residential sectors.”

“I will help them search./Zane needs our assistance now,/And he is my friend.”

Glancing out of holo-range, the CEO gave a surprised expression to the off-screen hitman. “You sure, buddy? I didn’t want to speak for you.” Rhys paused a moment, still looking off to the left as he watched the wordless expressions of anger, tears, curses, and exclamations flicker across Zer0’s mask. He nodded, turning back to the holo-cam. “Uh..okay, then. Zer0 will meet up with the gang and help out. Where are we holding this little shindig? ‘Shindig’ _is_ what people call it now…right?”

“I’m calling in some other favors, first. We’ll be in touch.”

____________

“We really should bring the B-team in,” one of them was saying.

Tannis had been sitting quietly, half listening to the group of vault hunters working out a plan. The rest of her attention had been on trying to contact the silver-haired operative again. She suddenly straightened in her seat like she’d been hit by a taser, muscles locking up as she let out a sudden shriek. Urgently, she clamped a hand over her mouth with a frantic whine, tipping over her chair in her rush to stand, fleeing into the bathroom the other siren shared with Moze. Amara and Moxxi exchanged a questioning look as sounds of violent retching came from the tiny bath.

“Sorry! Sorry!” Tannis called out in between gasps.

She showed up in the doorway a few minutes later, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I’m fine. Really. I was able to reach out briefly… The vault hunter is alive, but…” She went pale and turned suddenly to suffer through a few more agonizing minutes of emptying her stomach. Amara held her breath, terrified of the ‘but’ in Tannis’ half-explanation, till she finally reemerged, leaning heavily on the doorframe.

“I really don’t know how he can function if _that_ is what is in his…” She covered her mouth, struggling for control of her gag reflex for a moment but managed not to bring anything else up. “…head all the time.”

“But he’s _alive_?”

“Suffering… and quite mad. Unless that is his usual state, which I did _not_ hear the first time we conversed this way. Although at the time, he did warn me that it was going to become ugly in his head if I didn't leave.”

Now it was Moze and Amara’s turn to exchange looks. If things hadn’t been upended the way they had, one of them would have made a crack about how that _was_ their teammate’s normal state of mind… but with the Calypsos involved, it wasn’t quite so amusing anymore.

____________

“See… isn’t this so much better?” Troy’s mechanical hand was wrapped around his throat, holding his head back against the cold metal chestplate, hot breath whispering against his ear and pierced lips fluttering kisses light against his neck… until they became bites hard enough to break the skin. The dark-haired twin chuckled as he slid his arm around the operative’s chest, fingers caressing the silver treasure trail at his belly. Zane groaned between clenched teeth, limbs feeling like they weren’t even connected, heavy and leaden...drugged.

Unyielding flesh and metal behind, Tyreen straddled his lap, something purple and shimmering held in her fingertips in front of his eyes.

“You just can’t seem to understand that you belong to us. But you will…” She slid forward with a lustful moan, pressing herself against his chest, shoving the eridium shard deep into the still-bleeding bullet wound. She murmured against his lips, Troy laughing softly against the other side of his throat, “…you _will_ worship us.”

Even drugged and numb and drifting, he could still scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for reading, especially as dark and triggery as it has sometimes been.


	8. Beginnings and Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane shows what the dark side actually looks like.

Tension had been thick in the compound for the last few days, an electricity to the air that was difficult to gauge, but it meant the cultists were much more on edge, jumpy and more violent than usual. So, when they’d finally stopped drugging him, Zane became aware of just _how_ violent… now missing two fingers from his broken left hand: the pinky and the ring-finger, sloppily bandaged and still soaked through, so it didn’t happen _that_ long ago. His first still-addled thought was _Holy shite! They broke off!_

He wanted to clear his head enough to stop thinking _fecking stupid_ things like that, except he'd woken up with one of the worst migraines he could remember. It had been bad if he wasn’t even aware enough to remember something like _losing two fingers!_ Blackouts always sucked, but blackouts while in captivity were simply nightmare fuel and fucked with his head even more than what he’d already experienced.

The other problem was the eridium shard, except now it was no longer just a chunk of crystal. Tyreen had removed it, splintered it, and shoved the splinters back into his chest like a decorative necklace, sticking him with a health vial to force the flesh to heal over. Bullets he could live with, he had more than a few still rattling around his old bones… but, slag in its original solid form, not so much. It left a constant ache, a weakness, and an unsettling purple glow beneath his already pale skin. On the bright side, it wasn’t going to turn him into a giant purple abomination like those ghastly anointed… but it _was_ going to slowly poison him. He’d already thrown up twice from the migraine, the same reaction he had to the shimmer and hum of the vault portals. In solid form, _outside_ of his body, he could deal with eridium… inside, it was wreaking havoc, and ugly purplish veins were already starting to extend from the shards. He’d seen similar in the field… infection spreading out from a wound in reds and blues as it worked its way through the blood. If nothing else the Calypsos planned to do to him worked, this _poison_ would be the thing that finally ended him.

Escape was looking more and more bleak by the day. In some form or other, they were keeping him weak, sick, and at an extreme disadvantage. Of course, he did some of it to himself… his previous escape attempts had only proven to them that he could pick their pathetic locks without a lot of effort, and they’d even welded the latches shut on the manacles around his wrists, so those weren’t coming off any time soon, either. 

He almost wished they’d just get tired of him, shoot him in the head, and be done with it. He didn’t have enough strength…physical or mental…to even attempt an escape. Strength had never been his thing, anyway… speed and agility was where it was at. Not that he couldn’t throw a devastating right hook and hold his own in a bar brawl, but now, he just didn’t have the reserves for it.

He was laying on his side on the floor because it was the only place he could find that was cool enough to soothe his pounding head and keep the room from spinning sickeningly. A migraine was exactly like being hungover, without the enjoyment of being trashed beforehand. He wanted them to turn out the fecking lights because it felt so bright that it burned. And the clanking of metal bars and the thud of boots on the floor nearby was enough to make him want to puke again.

The god-queen knelt down beside him, running her fingers through his silver locks, pulling it back from his face with surprising gentleness. “Hey, superfan… you look like shit.”

Breathing in deeply, he tried to focus on her, but that would mean having to lift his head, so he just grunted out a single word. “ ’ridium.”

“Really? It was supposed to make you stronger.” She smirked. “Works for us, anyway.”

“Fuck… you.”

“ _There_ he is! The superfan we all know and love!” She patted him on the head and stood up. “Don’t worry, we have a surprise for you. You’re going to fight for us!”

And there it was. _This is it… this is the end… finally._ “Ffffive minutes.”

“Sure, superfan. That’ll be about how long it will take the medic to get you in fighting shape. Ooorrrrr maybe ten with how you look....But you’re going to be our star attraction tonight!”

It was actually an estimate on how long he’d live on an arena floor. If it was anything like Torgue’s competitions, there was no way he’d make it longer.

___________

He was surprised that the sawbones had actually done a reasonable job, but he still wasn’t ready to be standing in a barred hallway watching a handful of psychos shooting, slashing, and exploding each other. He’d had his bandages undone and a hypo stuck into one of the stumps of his missing fingers to heal the surface injuries. He couldn’t really move the rest of his hand, but that was to be expected after being abused every other day in the process of trying to heal. Just the fact that he could bend it at all meant he'd been in the Calypsos' care a long damned time. 

Even more surprisingly, the medic provided him with a fairly decent brace for his knee. He could actually put some weight on it, but it still hurt like a sonofabitch, and he didn’t trust that it would hold his weight for longer than a few seconds. Before handing him back to the guards escorting him to the arena, the sawbones offered him a handful of pills and a tin cup of water… Zane only eyed them for a second before taking all of them in one gulp. With everything he’d already endured, going into an arena drugged out of his mind or fighting a slow-acting poison was not the worst thing in the world. Something in the med cocktail immediately started to take the edge off his migraine…and as long as he didn’t just pass out in the middle of the arena from painkillers, it was an absolutely _glorious_ blessing. He’d probably just end up doing more damage to himself than his opponents if he couldn’t feel everything they were dishing out.

_This… might actually be kinda fun. Ugh... no... stop it! This is bad, bad, BAD._

Once they reached the gate, his guards left him… still in chains and without a weapon. “Hey, fuckos! Where’s me gun?” One just shrugged and the other didn’t even bother to answer.

 _Well, shite_ … and he was out of time, the bars swinging open to let him out into the midst of the fray. He couldn’t just hang back in the dark. Someone would notice the open door and corner him in here. At least out in the open, he had room to maneuver, so he limped out into the spotlights.

The announcer’s voice echoed over the mounted loudspeakers, “And here comes our newest competitor, straight from the heretic Crimson Raiders… Deathbringer!”

He winced at the nickname… he’d borne it proudly once. It struck fear into the low-level scumbags, and just added to his legend. But to hear it used in this arena… it just made him feel ill. He didn’t have time to reflect as a bullet whistled past his ear, and the explosions from the other side brought him back to ugly reality.

He figured if he was going to die out here, by god, he was going out in full Zane ‘Ferocity’ Flynt style. One of the psychos charged straight towards him, and he waited until the last possible second to move, sidestepping onto his good leg, and wrapping his chains around the neck of the hapless cultist. Using the momentum, he swung them both around to face the other combatants, using the psycho for both balance and as a meat shield. The cultist gargled as the chains cut into his windpipe, flung around by the operative like he was a rag doll until he was filled with bullet holes and became too much of a dead weight to handle.

Zane didn’t even bother trying to unwrap the chains, pulling them tighter and messily slicing through the psycho’s neck. He braced his foot against the dead cultist’s shoulder, gritting his teeth against the agony shooting up from his knee, and shoved until the head popped free. He scooped it up with one hand, took the psycho’s blade-axe in the other and waited behind the nearest pillar for the next one to come to him. Not his preferred method of fighting, but in this case, it was the smartest.

When a screaming shotgunner skidded around the corner, he tossed the psycho’s head at her. Startled, she dropped the shotgun and caught the head, pure reflex taking over before she even had time to think about the action. Zane buried the axe deep in her skull, scooping up the dropped shotgun.

He already knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep up any kind of physical momentum like this, even with the painkillers… only two cultists were down by his hand, and the enemies were only going to be more difficult as the match went on. The talented killers were going to wade through all the mouth breathers, and he’d have to deal with them with no weapons, a busted knee, a messed up hand, no depth perception, and zero tech. If he had Zoomer or his digi-clone, he might have called it even, but this was beyond a typical disadvantage. Even back in his early days without his gadgets, he wasn’t half-dead when he started a job.

The only way to outmatch the ferocity of the cultists was to give in to the impulses he kept buried deep… and kept buried for good reason. You don’t come from a family of crazy without it rubbing off…it was in his blood, like it or not, in his head, and however much he trained to be calm in the face of danger and cold when he pulled the trigger, it was _always_ part of him. So when a heavy hammer wielded by a muscle-bound thug took a chunk out of the cement barrier, barely an inch from his head and showering him with dust and bits of concrete, he let go…

The announcer and half the crowd were on their feet by the time he’d finished the next three followers, screeching commentary into the microphone in an excited, disbelieving tone. “Holy _shit_ , listeners, if you could only see the carnage! Deathbringer is truly living up to his name today. We haven’t seen this kind of brutality since someone dumped a vial of slag into the sacramental wine!”

Letting the monster go…on top of the _truly_ fantastic painkillers that had kicked in full force…Zane felt nothing, even when a cultist desperately jammed a knife into his shoulder and left it there. He didn’t feel anything except the rage, blind to everything except killing and surviving. One moment, a machete was in his hand as he sliced and gouged, slitting throats and cutting into vital organs so quickly that the victims were often still running when they finally just collapsed to the ground, dead before realizing they were even bleeding. The next, he’d brazenly stripped a gun out of a cultist’s hands after elbowing him in the face, removing the jaw and half the face with their own weapon at close range. He kept going in his vicious onslaught…a shotgun blast to the face, sending skull and teeth and brains splattering…an assault rifle ripping them nearly in two, halves hanging together by nothing more than spine. When he had a short blade, he’d shank his victim, hand moving in a blur as he stabbed five, ten times, not just severing arteries and veins, but shredding them completely.

Blood spray hung in the air like a mist, and reloading never even entered his mind, flinging aside every empty gun and always moving, stalking, terrorizing… when he couldn’t find a weapon, he used the chains to grapple, trap, twist, and choke. He was soaked in blood, adrenaline pumping, long-withheld fury and frustration driving muscle memory and survival instinct to the limits. Facing down the last few survivors, he snarled at them, baring his teeth… feral, animalistic, and completely psychotic. Two remaining cultists actually backed away, both of them holding guns… but the sight of the operative made them forget everything except that he was the hunter and they were merely prey. They’d seen crazy…they lived with psychos, after all…but this was a whole different level of insanity.

He caught up with one when she slipped in blood and fell over another body, her gun spraying bullets in a frantic and spasmic trigger pull. Crouching over her, Zane rendered her throat into a gaping, bloody hole in seconds. He left the knife embedded in her eye, took her gun, and pointed it at the other... the legs of the cultist’s jeans suddenly soaked wet from the crotch down, frozen in shock. A single trigger pull from the Vladof put him down, head bursting from the explosive rounds.

Zane swayed on his feet as the combat high began to fade, the red clearing from his mind, and the monster drifting away. He was finding it hard to breathe, dim awareness of a dozen new injuries that still didn’t really hurt but were pooling blood around his feet. He had no idea what blood he was covered in or dripping with might actually be his…and wondered if he had that much more left in his body left to spill.

It was only then that he realized that there was no shouting or cheering from the audience. The entire arena had gone completely silent, unsure whether to celebrate the victory or not. He looked up and around the edges of the combat zone, but all he could see were spotlights and glare and the elevated viewing platform of the god-twins. Only Tyreen stood there looking down on him, but he couldn’t tell from her expression if she was angry or not…why hadn’t he just had the fucking grace to die already.

A murmuring took over the spectators as Troy strode out of the combatants’ entry and onto the bloodied field, glancing around at the blood and body parts, stepping over a few to get to the operative. Zane still held the Vladof in one hand, a thin line of smoke drifting up from the cooling barrel. He waited for the all-too-familiar blue orb to come as some sort of punishment for staying alive…but it didn’t. In another life not so long ago, he would have mocked the Calypso, spouted some rude taunt, tempting fate and death in the same exhalation, but he was just too fecking tired. He looked up at the approaching twin, not even bothering get out of his path. He’d just fall over from exhaustion, and there were certain appearances of weakness he wasn’t willing to show if he had a choice in it.

“Drop it.” Troy commanded, all eyes in the arena on the pair, collectively holding their breath, unsure where this was going. Zane met his gaze, curling his lip in a snarl, and with a final burst of speed born of decades of gunplay…and the last of his energy reserves… raised the barrel to his own chin and pulled the trigger.

It had nearly been out when he'd killed the last combatant, and now the clicks of the empty spinning barrels were shockingly loud in the silence of the arena. Exhaling a dark laugh, Zane threw it away from himself, then with a whine and a spray of blood, he pulled the knife out of his shoulder, tossing it aside, and held his arms out in a taunting, wordless invitation… _come and get me_. So, maybe the monster wasn't entirely gone...once it was out, it didn't go down lightly...he’d known the gun was empty, but the split second of alarm in Troy’s eyes was so very worth the gesture.

Troy blinked, shock morphing quickly into a wide grin. “You still have some sass, old man.” The twin grabbed him by the wrist, yanking his arms up into the air in a victorious gesture, chains rattling in the silence. “Your champion!”

At his proclamation, the cultists erupted in cheers, and began chanting for the former heretic.

Troy leaned in close and licked a stream of blood from the operative’s temple, whispering in his ear. “You were poetry in motion out there today. The guards will take you to the medic… then to my quarters.”

Zane drew back so he could get a clearer view of the siren who was very publicly invading his personal space, brow furrowing for a moment…his gaze flicked up to the queen’s roost, meeting Tyreen’s smirking visage. After a long breath, he gave the god-king a single nod.

_____________

The vault hunters worked their way through the CoV camp, speakers scattered throughout the buildings blasting propaganda and the latest episode of ‘Let’s Flay,’ which this week sounded like a battle royale between their own followers. The announcer was enthusiastic about her play-by-play, shouting names and disembowelments with a surprising level of detail despite the speed of the bout.

“And here comes the newcomer, Deathbringer! An impressive explosive shot to Skullrender’s right eye…and Skullrender is down! Minus half his head!”

Amara stopped in her tracks, eyes turning to the blaring speaker mounted on a stack of crates. _What did she just say?_ She shook her head… must have misheard, jogging to catch up to the team. But she swore she heard the same name several times over the speakers, providing background accompaniment to their total wipeout of the cultist’s camp. She didn’t usually pay attention to the broadcasts, tuning out the propagandist bullshit, but this one kept distracting her… the nickname from a story that Zane had confided to her after she gently teased him about having so many ‘middle’ names.

While Moze and FL4K went back through the camp, searching for salvageable gear, she plunked down in a guard’s chair that looked out over the Pandoran wastes far below, resting her SMG on her knees… not to take a breather, but so she could hear the rest of the broadcast undisturbed. It was violent, fast, brutal, and every description of death and injury was achingly upsetting. At the end of the combat, the onsite audience fell oddly silent, uncertain.

The announcer’s voice had dropped to a low murmur, “Something is happening… God-King Troy is coming out onto the field to speak to the survivor…” Another brief silence ensued, then the crowd erupted again, the announcer shouting into the microphone, “And he’s declared Deathbringer the champion of this week’s ‘Let’s Flay’! All hail the Twin Gods!”

In the background, the crowd started chanting, and it took Amara a few seconds to realize with horror what they were screaming…

_“Flynt! Flynt! Flynt! Flynt!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a chunk of this while listening to A Perfect Circle. 
> 
> I know there are a few other stories out there which have posted arena-combat, and they are great stories! I tried to make this one not be derivative or repeats/copies of the others, and have had this one in mind for a while. Supreme kudos to those authors for taking on such amazing action scenes with Lilith/Zane and the Calypsos/bandits. 
> 
> This one is the longest chapter so far, and just gets little more intense to write with each chapter. I want a happy ending, but the characters keep doing awful things to each other. Next couple of chapters are plotted out, but may take some time to make cohesive. I'll post them as soon as they're ready. 
> 
> As always, thank you for kudos, comments and reads! I hope you continue to enjoy the torment. :)


	9. Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is triple-sized and a hell of a rollercoaster ride. Figured you all deserved it not being cut into multiple pieces for being so patient.

The Crimson Raiders hovered together on the bridge, some sitting, some standing, others joining on ECHO, but all of them were arguing. The bridge was a cacophony of voices, and none could really be heard individually among the din.

It was BALEX who finally managed to cut through, sending an ear shattering, nails-on-a-chalkboard sound through Sanctuary’s speakers. “One at a fuckin’ TIME, people! This is our man _Zane_ we’re talkin’ ‘bout. So chill and discuss like goddammed _adults_. Shee-iit… fuckin' _teddy bear_ has ta tell people what’s what. Just _wrong_ …”

Tannis smoothed her hands down the front of her jacket and spoke up. “As someone who has been at the mercies of the Calypsos, I can attest that their methods are brutal and excessive, and we are long past the time when our fellow vault hunter should have been among us again. Since it is entirely our fault for not mounting a rescue sooner, we are also squarely to blame for any…ahh… mental _difficulties_ he may be having now.”

“Why are we even still talking about this?” Moze was one of the few who refused to sit down, arms angrily crossed, hip jutted out in a defiant stance. “No man left behind, and we totally fucked that up already.”

FL4K backed her up, towering behind her with an equally displeased stance, nodding at her words. “We have failed our pack, and we must make it right.”

“You _heard_ the broadcasts! He’s fighting for _them!_ ” Lilith refused to budge on her rejection of a rescue attempt after the last CoV broadcast had ended. “They’ve started painting him in their cult graffiti like he’s one of their personal celebrities.”

“He’s still one of us, and it ain’t like he’s killed anyone on our side… he’s been killin’ cultists!“ The gunner challenged.

“It’s their entertainment. He chose it.”

“Did he? Or was he forced into it because we did _nothing?_ And as far as I’m concerned, that is _aaaaaall_ on you.” The little gunner kept pressing, fury dripping from every word. “We begged, _pleaded_ to stop looking for the vaults to search for him…we practically snuck out so we could recon on our own… but nooooo… the vault was just too big a draw, wasn’t it? What’s one lone vault hunter compared to the BIG prize?”

“We were keeping the Calypsos away from them. I’m not the bad guy here.”

“Oh yeah? I’m thinkin’ maybe you are.”

The room erupted again, protests from the B-team over ECHO, the current batch of vault hunters versus the old guard, and it wasn’t getting them anywhere.

Marcus interrupted the renewed shouting match, pushing onto the bridge and flinging a small gift box onto the center console before stomping back out without a word…not looking at any of them except for the disappointed glare he gave Moxxi on the way out. The wrapping was bright and colorful, and had been ripped open haphazardly but still clung to the outside of the oblong box.

Silence settled over the room, and only the barkeep moved, crossing the open deck in two long strides and picking up the small box. She used a manicured fingernail to flip open the top flap where Marcus had already pried it open. Sitting on top was a ripped, sloppily handwritten note, “Winerz consulshun priz.” With the barest tip of her painted nail, she raised the edge of the note and nearly dropped the box. Lilith was hovering close by, gripping Moxxi by the shoulder and peering into the gift box… and even she went pale.

The entire room collectively jumped as the silence was shattered when Torgue burst onscreen with his normal signature shout, not bothering with any greeting at all, “VAULT HUNTERS! WHY THE F*** DID I GET A FINGER IN THE MAIL? IS THIS A F***ING THING NOW?”

Amara had been standing near the door, arms crossed, just quietly seething at the arguments and shouting, her anger growing steadily, bubbling beneath the surface, but now it broke through, anguish giving it voice, purple sparks snapping up and down her arms and haloing around her head.

“Is THAT answer enough for you now? You have to wait until the Calypsos send us his fucking _fingers_? Well, _fuck_ you. I’m going after him. If you want to join me, fine. If not…as he would say, ‘Ya’ll can just just _feck off_.’” She turned on her heel, and quite literally _stormed_ off the bridge, leaving a trail of lightning and static in her wake, leftover charges still caressing the metal door even after it slid shut behind her. The crew members who had been working in the hall…or who had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping on the verbal sparring…stared after her. None of them had seen her siren powers on such vivid display, and all of them cringed away or squeezed themselves into whatever small dark spaces were available, staying well out of her path and praying they didn’t draw her attention and ire.

She slid the door to her room open, let it whoosh shut behind her and slumped against it, sliding to the floor as all the unshed angry, pained tears finally fell with harsh, body-wracking sobs. She refused… _refused_ … to believe that her partner had turned on them and wholeheartedly joined the CoV… especially after seeing the “consolation prize.” Fighting in their sadistic arena was _not_ proof of someone turning traitor. Betrayal was so much deeper than that, and she knew how much he despised it, so imagining him turning was simply out of the question.

Stories Zane had spun for the team and crew…or just for her…flowed through her memories. Things that she’d initially blown off with an annoyed eye-roll as boasting and tall tales…and considering he was usually well-lit by the time he started storytelling…about infiltrating the enemy and gaining enough trust to take them down from the inside…about pretense and espionage…about how the bloodiest and most difficult assignments meant getting up close and personal with the enemy. Wouldn’t that be a giant middle finger to Lilith? She could almost see him strutting back onto the ship like he owned the place and dropping proof of his kills at Lilith’s feet, smug grin plastered all over his face. Of course, his ego would be impossible to live with after that…

She covered her face with both hands, shaking with the false hope… here she was, imagining a scenario that wasn’t going to happen. Lilith’s protests just kept echoing in her ears, “He’s dangerous now.” Of _course_ he was dangerous. He’d been dangerous long before the Calypsos ever got their claws into him. ‘Danger’ was one of his many middle names, after all. If the Calypsos actually did manage to brainwash him, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be brought back from it. There was no reason to throw out discussions of rescue like he was a hopeless case, forever tarnished and only deserving death like any other stereotypical bandit. Zane survived because he knew all the dirty tricks in the book, made up more than a few of his own, and collected a lifetime’s worth of damning secrets along the way. He survived because he was a gods-be-damned _Flynt_ , and because he was too damned stubborn not to.

_Please survive, Zane. Please…_

A knock on her door snapped her out of her wanderings, and when she wiped away tears with the back of her hand and muttered a half-hearted, “come in,” she was still astonished to see the number of people at her door. Moxxi stood in the doorway, hand on her hip…surrounded by Moze, FL4K, Zer0, and Mr. Chew panting at their feet.

“Let’s go, sugar. We’re going with you to get our boy.”

_______________

Zane settled back into the pillows… wonderful, soft, _real_ pillows on an actual bed… even if it did belong to one of the twins… closing his eyes, he was just starting to drift back to blessed darkness when the door slammed opened and bounced back off the wall, the dominant Calypso sauntering in, hips swaying before she perched on the edge of the bed, running her fingertips in a caress up his spine then back down the tribal-like tattoos that meandered from his throat, across his shoulder and down his arm to his fingertips.

It had been Troy’s way of marking him as their champion…”rewarding” him after a particularly brutal arena match against a ridiculous number of his Anointed. As if he didn’t have enough scars from the sadistic fucker to last a lifetime, he’d been practically dragged in to their cult tattooist and decorated with the same siren marks that the twins sported, except in solid black ink. He’d endured twelve agonizing hours under the needle being permanently branded as theirs.

A tattoo was something he never would have done and had never wanted done, not even a little one when he was blind drunk and dared to… but like so many things lately, it was just one more thing he was going to have to learn to live with… one more thing to endure and survive. Even after all of that pain, before he left the chair, he asked the tattooist to add one more…his signature spider at the base of his skull just below the hairline. Neither of the twins objected… if he wanted to be branded as Deathbringer, too, then by all means.

Tyreen leaned down and cooed in his ear. “Wakey, wakey, superfan. I have a special job for you today.” Sitting up, she jammed a syringe into his shoulder… the drug cocktail they’d been giving him before each fight that temporarily pushed back the poisons in his system and gave him a jolt of adrenaline and painkillers.

He groaned, chains rattling as he shoved himself up to a sitting position, scraping his nails through his hair to try to get it out of his eyes. Yes, he _still_ had the manacles and chains, and despite the comfort of the Claypso’s bed, he was unwillingly attached to it by the solid metal links. It just proved that they didn’t trust him in the slightest… or they had a chain fetish. Probably both.

This was his existence now… fight, heal, kill, fuck, fight, rinse, repeat. There was occasionally eating and sleeping tossed in for a change of pace, interspersed with unwilling teleportations and questionable rewards for what the Calypsos perceived as “loyalty.” Loyalty only really meant that he’d lost all sense of time, of his own thoughts, of himself…that he was kept exhausted and sick, in a state of blind combative rage, or chained to a bedframe…or sometimes all of the above at once.

Tyreen sat there expectantly, waiting for some kind of response from him. He gave up and just grunted. It was about as non-committal as he could get away with.

“It’s a surprise. I think you’ll like it. There’s a bit of revenge involved.”

_Please, not another video…not another video…_

“Get dressed and be ready. We’ll come get you for the broadcast as soon as the meds kick in.”

 _Ugh… it is another video…_ He managed not to groan or roll his eyes. Last time he slipped and did that, he ended up with a brand new scar over his dead eye and a promise that if he ever looked at her like that again, he’d end up without any eyes at all.

She gave him a leering smile, patted him on the cheek, and wandered out humming to herself, leaving him to wonder what the hell it could possibly be _this_ time.

_____________

The team had no intention of leaving Sanctuary without a direction or a plan this time. Zer0 had been at work long before the crew had finally come to verbal blows, scrutinizing hours of videos and rewatching the Calypsos’ torture porn for any details that might tell them anything useful. As they prepped, using Ellie’s shuttle bay as a base of operations, Zer0 showed them the details of the CoV compound while they discussed strategy. Ellie hovered nearby, working on adjustments and vehicle upgrades that they might need for their mission.

Sanctuary crew and citizens alike were galvanized by the rumors of an actual rescue and the whole team being back together again, so the vault hunters were occasionally interrupted by a small group coming by to offer wishes of good luck…even if it was accompanied by low mutters of “it’s about fucking time.”

Ava hovered on the outskirts, sulking because she was staying behind with Moxxi as the team’s eyes from the safety of Sanctuary. Ellie had tried to explain to the teen that being backup was sometimes more important than being in the point team, but it did little to soothe the scowl firmly implanted on her face. The mechanic had finally just thrown her arms in the air with a huff of frustration and returned to her own prep rather than trying to rationalize with a moody teenager. Tannis made sure the team had more than enough med kits and gauze on hand, and even Marcus gave the hunters a small discount on ammo restocks with a muttered, “Bring him back…he’s my best customer.” Lilith was the only one who didn’t bother making an appearance.

After the first planetside infiltration of the CoV camp, the vault hunters realized just how difficult this was going to be… it started the same as their usual raids, even though the team knew that the Calypsos seemed to always know where they were, especially whenever they set foot within the Pandoran wastelands… but this felt more urgent, like it was a build-up to something much bigger. Amara hoped it was just their own anticipation, and how much they had emotionally invested in this operation.

All of their other jobs and rescues and assistance had meant something too, but the Calypsos had an annoying way of making everything way too personal. As Lilith had said to them when Zane and Tannis had been swept away from them in a flash of light, “We’re not losing anyone else.” Even with their determination, there was still fear behind their actions, a looming “what if” that kept them on edge, all of them permanently stamped with the memories of how quickly and callously the Calypsos had snuffed out one of their own and how often they’d been taunted with scenes of torment and death.

Resolute not to face that yet again, the vault hunters fought their way through the compound against staggering odds, tooth and nail, blood and sweat, helping each other up when one fell, learning to fall into rhythm with Zer0 as their fourth and to trust that he had their backs…even if he was quieter and far less flamboyant than they were used to. It felt good to have a full team, and to know that the B-team was standing by if they needed more. It was closer to normal than they’d been in a long time…but it still wasn’t _right_.

Amara was trying to catch her breath from the last battle, three of the Anointed had been in their path within the big courtyard, and even with the open ground, it had been an ugly fight, a seemingly unending stream of cultists being teleported in all the while. Moze had a wrench in her hand and was making a quick and urgent field adjustment to Iron Bear, grumbling about the new dents in its frame and fretting over the thin stream of black, oily smoke drifting from one of the arm joints. FL4K was tending to a whimpering Mr. Chew, and even Zer0 leaned tiredly against a wall, the tip of his blade dragging in the dry Pandoran dirt.

The red flash of a new teleport jolted them out of their all-too-short reprieve.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Moze groused at the new arrival, “What _now_?!”

No giant purple monstrosity greeted them as expected, but a single wiry, bare-chested, tattooed cultist, chains dangling from his wrists and stringing up to a heavy collar around his throat.

“Well, at least this will be easier than that last bullshit.” She raised her rifle, then paused, slowly lowering it and staring open-mouthed at the CoV thug who slowly raised his head to glare at them from beneath uneven silvery bangs and heavy brows. “Oh…. _shit_ …”

The four of them stared, and even Zer0 flashed a quick succession of “:o”s and “!!!”s across his faceplate.

From the woman who had just finished beating down an anointed militant with nothing but blind fury and her bare hands… okay, and a lot of sparks and flames…Amara’s lips quivered seeing her partner this way. Except for the radio commentary, the videos from the Calypsos had stopped some time ago, so they hadn’t seen their teammate’s face in what felt like far too long. Amara was taken aback at the long string of tattoos on his skin _… maybe it’s just war paint_ … and how thin he looked… how… _feral_.

The entire team was on their feet in an instant, starting to run towards their teammate… until realization of how he simply stood, quiet and still, made them stop in confusion, glancing between each other, the unspoken thought hitting them all too quickly. _Trap?_

Mr. Chew gave an excited bark and tried to lunge forward without them, but FL4K held him back by the collar, keeping the beast from running full-tilt toward their teammate.

“Wow… th’ love here is just…overwhelmin’.” The operative stretched his arms above his head to the limits of the chains, popping his neck and shoulders. Blue eye rolled upwards, tilting his head in a very un-Zanelike gesture, then dropped his gaze down to stare intently at Zer0. The Atlas hitman didn’t react except to lift his blade slightly, pointing the tip behind him and to the left with a flick of his wrist.

Zane grinned at them then, smile fangy and full of malice. “What… no ‘welcome back, Zane?’ No ‘Hey, it’s been a _fucking_ long time…how th’ hell are ya?’ _Nothing_?”

“Why would you turn, Flynt?/Betrayal does not become/a man like yourself.”

He tilted his head, silver hair falling in front of his dark-circled, sunken eyes. It almost looked like his lids had been smeared with kohl and liner to be that dark, that….sickly. “I turned inta what ye forced me to be.”

Amara huffed, “We didn’t…” Something else was off…his stance, his words, his glances… had he really embraced the CoV? And… was he _glowing_? No… not completely, but there was a purplish aura across his chest, dark tendrils snaking out across his skin and away from the unnatural color.

“That’s right!” he snarled. “You didn’t. You _left_ me there… rescued Tannis… but good ol’ Zane was expendable.” Glancing at Zer0, he pointed. “See… you already replaced me.”

“We didn’t!” Now it was Moze’s turn to protest with the same words of denial Amara had used only a moment ago. Her voice was choked, not wanting to believe that this wasn’t _their_ Zane, especially after protesting so loudly and confidently that he’d never turn against them.

Spreading his arms, he laughed. “So… in the ultimate cosmic joke, Tyreen sent _me_ …” Pointing at himself, chains rattling with each motion, then switching direction to gesture at the little group. “…to kill _you_.”

But Amara saw it now… his eyes didn’t hold the empty, blank look she’d seen the last time he was on a camera, and she swore she caught the slightest flinch from him as he spoke those awful words…something most people wouldn’t ever notice, but they’d been teammates and more, so she had seen some of the small ticks of his most vulnerable moments. Maybe it was false hope, but despite his words, she swore it _was_ still him… and once she let her own gaze drift away from him, she saw the drones hovering silently around the courtyard, little red lights blinking above their focusing digital eyes.

The operative slowly and deliberately glanced up to the tower far to his right where he suspected Mordecai was in wait, and that Zer0 had confirmed with that tiniest of gestures with his blade… it was where _he_ would be if it was him…and he would have insisted on having the sniper as backup if _he’d_ planned this little soiree. He smirked and raised his left hand to his temple… giving them a good look at the lack of his last two fingers…another twist of the virtual knife for the vault hunters… and made the universal gesture for a trigger pull. He tilted his head again…then slowly swiveled his gaze back to the vault hunters, meeting the eyes of each one of them in turn, but lingered on Amara. For a moment… just a heartbeat…she swore his devilish smile softened and he winked…two words formed silently on his lips that completely shattered her heart… and then he was gone. Like flipping a switch, his eyes went dead, cold and emotionless, and his lips curled in an absolutely bone-chilling snarl. It was sudden and shocking, almost as if another person stood there instead.

All of them now had their guns pointed half-heartedly at him, except for Zer0, who hadn’t moved.

“Awww.. really? A fight for l’il ol’ me?” Zane lifted his brows and gave them a crooked grin of pure malice, raising his hands to his heart in a mocking gesture. If his voice hadn’t been so derisive, it was still such a typical ‘Zane’ gesture that it made them pause, and he took advantage to toss a flash-bang into their midst, disappearing in the confusion. Amara could barely see, flinging a phasegrasp orb, but he was already gone from where she’d seen him last.

Half-blind, FL4K gestured to Mr. Chew to attack. The skag just looked up at him with a whine, pawing at his foot, then sat down on his haunches to watch in confusion as the rest of the pack went toe-to-toe. Who was he supposed to attack? Everyone here was friendly, right? _Right?_

Going up against their former teammate wasn’t anything like sparring together, either, and they'd never gone all-out with each other. Sure, they’d given each other bruises and the occasional cut while fighting together, but this Zane was a disconnected maelstrom, striking out now like it was a matter of life or death. They didn’t want to hurt him, but he seemed to have no such qualms. Decades of death and luck were on his side, along with intimate knowledge of the way each of them fought in the field, and he used it against them at every turn.

Even without his tech joining him in the fray, between the smoke, gunfire, flash grenades and the vault hunters’ desperation to save him from himself, he seemed to be everywhere. Without the support of Iron Bear, Moze went down first, dazed and seeing stars, blood flowing down her temple at an alarming rate. Her partner growled but stayed protectively near her, shooting blindly into the rapidly clearing smoke. He heard a grunt... something had hit. 

“Mordecai! I know you’re out there…What are you waiting for? Shoot him!” Lilith’s voice interrupted over their ECHOs.

“No! Don’t!” Moxxi shouted immediately after, but her tone was frantic and uncertain.

“I… I can’t get a clear shot!”

“He’s destroying them out there!” Ava sounded terrified and confused as to why and how this was even happening.

“He’s a fucking assassin! What did you expect?!” The I-told-you-so tone clear in the former siren’s voice.

When a breeze cleared some of the smoke, Zane stood in the midst of the courtyard with Amara in a chokehold, using her as a shield, her own gun held at her temple…but he knew the only reason he had her was because her heart wasn’t in this fight a hundred percent... even with as many phasegrasps as she’d thrown his way… he'd dodged in and out of purple explosions and flying dirt like he was in the middle of a minefield. With everything he'd inflicted on them, he was bleeding too, blinking sweat and red drips out of his good eye. FL4K and Zer0 both moved forward in tandem, as angry and cursing emotes flickered on and off of the Atlas operative’s mask.

“Back the feck up! I _will_ kill her.” Zane dug the barrel into her head, ignoring the responding fingernails she punched into his skin. "Hell, I'm going to kill her anyway... so... do what you want." He heard the low growl from the siren's throat and steeled himself against how pissed she was, feeling the electricity building beneath her skin and the purple of her normally beautiful siren marks glowing dangerously bright.

He nuzzled against her hair, inhaling her scent… eyes closing for the briefest of seconds as he whispered a few words softly in her ear that no one else could see, hoping she’d understand even with so little said. So much unsaid, so much he couldn’t say even now…that he couldn’t contact them without being caught… that he’d been playing a fucking dangerous game for _months_ till he got an actual opportunity to get away that wouldn't put them all in danger… that he had to make this look good for the cameras or Tyreen would just teleport him back and kill him in front of them…that he’d rather die at the hands of his _(former?)_ friends, because nothing they could do to him or believe about him would ever be worse than what he’d already endured.

He glanced up to the sniper’s nest, loosening his hold on her by just a tiny margin… enough to warn her. Raising the gun barrel sideways to his forehead in a salute, he shoved Amara to the ground, twisting her so it looked like she was the one who broke free on her own. 

The bullet ripped through his chest and out his back, the sound of the rifle shot echoing in his ears long after the heavy round had cut through flesh and embedded itself in the dirt behind him. He couldn’t breathe, gun falling from limp fingers, dark blotches flickering at the edges of his vision. Through the others’ ECHOs, he heard the choked voice of Mordecai, “We…we got him… Lil. Za…. Flynt is down. Repeat. Flynt is down.”

He stood there for a long minute, swaying, before hitting the ground like a clipped marionette, blood spreading too fast in a pool beneath him. There was no victory from the team as they gathered around him. He struggled for a taste of air, each inhale bubbling and gurgling, blood flowing past his throat and over his lips as Zer0 knelt beside him, gloved hand resting against his throat as his pulse dimmed and slowed. Chew lay next to him, nosing his arm with a soft whine.

Amara was on the other side of him sobbing, embarrassed and in agony of having doubted him at all, even if it was only for a moment. He blinked slowly, fascinated at the way her mascara didn’t run black down her face even though her cheeks were streaked wet. Reaching up, he wiped across a teary trail with his thumb, but only left a bloodied streak in its place. He murmured softly to her, breath bubbling at his lips and sending more rivulets of red across his beard and down his cheeks to join the growing pool around him.

She leaned over and softly kissed his lips, rising from their brief meeting with his blood smeared on her lips. His hand dropped away, and shadows gathered around him, chattering frantically as if he could understand what they were saying. It wasn’t even words anymore, just noises, chirping and screeching around his head as the sky grew darker and night fell only for him. Zer0 took his hand away and shook his head, a ":'(" flashing on his faceplate. The skag sat up on his haunches and howled.

Tyreen’s voice interrupted, making Amara jump and set all of them on edge, the hologram of the god-queen flickering and small on their screens. “Wow… just… _wow_! Vault thieves…color me surprised. And disappointed. And… _surprised!_ Ohmygod, you _actually_ killed one of your own! Buuuut we’re still opening the vault, sooooooo….. you can just wallow in your angst a while longer, then we’ll kill you, too. Buh-bye now!”

Zer0 waited another full minute after the transmission ended, watching as the camera drones flicked off one-by-one and drifted away, then triggered the travel beacon, disappearing in a blue and white flash with the fallen operative. The vault hunters stood there uncomfortably, staring at the pool of their teammate's blood, watching the outline of it seep into the dry dirt. 

Mordecai joined them sluggishly, rifle slung over his shoulder, eyeing the spot where the pair had just been with a sick expression. His hands were shaking, clearly upset with what he’d just done.“Is he...?" FL4K nodded affirmatively and turned away. "Can we… can we just get the hell out of here?”

Moze nodded agreement, holding her aching head _,_ dazed and concussed... but as the others traveled out one-by-one, the gunner put her hand gently on the siren’s arm, stopping her for just a moment. “So… what…uh…what… uh…” She took a deep, shuddering breath.” I saw he was tryin to say somethin’ there at the last…”

Amara couldn’t help the tiniest hint of a smile. “He said…’Tell the reaper he can go feck himself.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a hell of a week, so plans to post this in two parts fell through and felt unfair to do. Lost a family member last week after a long illness (nothing to do with the pandemic), so it's been a bit rough and took a while to get back to even thinking of writing anything. 
> 
> I originally had a very different road for this part, but I just couldn't get it to mesh. Hope you enjoy the results.


	10. Death is Not the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mourning, bonding, fear, and revenge

It had been two all-too-short weeks, and the Calypsos were back at it with a vengeance. The team had fought through cultists, toppled Anointed, dealt with liquid eridium sludge, and finally cut off the twins’ power supply after their threat to open the Great Vault had started to bear ugly fruit. It was still strange having Zer0 with them, but even though he was every bit as skilled as Zane… it wasn’t the same.

On the plus side, he was also right there with them when the twins pulled another switch…Troy using his sister to fuel his powers. Zer0’s deadly glowing blade flashed through the air and sent blood-showers spraying from the cultists who were desperately trying to guard their god-king…and he shook off the eridium-powered globular attacks of the parasite twin like they were nothing, while the others struggled to dodge the powerful attacks. Amara had to admit that what she was able to glimpse was impressive…the assassin’s motions were almost like a dance, the flashes when he teleported short distances to pop up behind another cultist and slice through bodies like butter made her heart ache…so similar to the way Zane would skip through a battlefield with his blue-pixeled clone, swapping places so quickly it always made her dizzy to watch. She never understood how he was able to switch perspectives so seamlessly, cutting through bandits like he had been standing in that same spot the entire time.

However, the brief self-distraction meant she missed a charge and was caught in the following explosion of light and power that batted her aside like a ragdoll, meeting the ground hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. She turned and flung a grasping orb in the self-proclaimed god-king’s direction, but he was already floating high above the battlefield and seemed nearly impervious to her powers. The same phasegrasp that normally drained and crushed even the toughest cultists in a matter of seconds, he shrugged off like it was an insignificant annoyance.

She tried to get back on her feet while the team kept picking away at Troy’s defenses, but her arms were shaking, feeling battered and exhausted and useless. A shadow fell over her, and a gloved hand extended to her… she took the black-clad operative’s hand, squinting for a moment to try to see through the dark filter of his mask…but as soon as he’d gently helped her to her feet, with a quick squeeze of her arm to make sure she was okay, he flashed away and appeared again in the middle of the fray, blade spinning and cutting faster than she could follow.

The fight was long, exhausting, and a few times they almost gave up hope that they could finish it…finish off the Calypsos once and for all and save Pandora….whether or not Pandora was even aware it needed saving. This is what vault hunters did… _together_.

When at last Troy dropped to his knees, the glow of power from him fading away, Amara could only follow him with her eyes as he crawled toward his fallen sister, defeated but with a smug, triumphant smile stretching his pierced lips.

“We… we did it, Ty.” He started to laugh… even dying, the twins had _still_ won, the Vault was _still_ trying to shudder open. She wanted to wipe that fucking smile from his face… with everything he’d done to them… to _Zane_ … he didn’t deserve celebrate a victory, even if he was dying.

Zer0 didn’t think so either, flinging aside his blade as he crossed the field, he drew a wicked-looking Jakobs revolver from the holster at his thigh, cocking the hammer back as he stopped in front of the kneeling Calypso. Troy raised his eyes to the assassin, giving him a daring “what could you possibly do to me now?” expression. The Atlas operative raised one hand to the clasp at the bottom of his mask and raised it…Troy’s grin faded into shock, jaw falling open as he tried to find words… but all he managed was, “Y…you…”

Nodding without a word, the operative leaned down to Troy, head tilting slightly to press a warm, heated kiss to his lips… for just the briefest of moments, Troy thought he might live through this battle after all.

The answer to that question was quick and simple as the operative straightened, his finger twitching on the trigger, the bullet exploding out of the back of the male twin’s skull, and blood and brains decorating the stone floor behind him with unmistakable finality. His body fell next to his sister’s…but one death wasn’t good enough. Finger tightening on the trigger again and again, the shadowy assassin kept plugging new holes into the Calypso brother until the gun was just dry-firing on empty chambers. The pistol finally lowered, and he made a low, feral growl deep in his throat, followed by a wad of spit that landed on what was left of Troy’s face. With a grunt and a sharp nod, the mask fell and relatched… he slid the empty gun into its holster and strode solemnly back to retrieve his blade.

\-------- _Two weeks earlier--------_

_The vault hunters sat in a cross-legged semi-circle in the middle of Zane’s room, one of the cases of Swamp Bloom Ale cracked open and several empty bottles already littering the floor… as if anyone else who intruded would be able to tell they were new additions to all the other empties that their alcoholic teammate had left behind. Amara wore one of his grey shirts, the wide neck slipping over her shoulder to expose the strap of her purple and black halter. Moze frowned next to her, leaning on the wide frame of her partner, who was turning a silent drone over and over in his metal fingers. Mr. Chew lay next to him, licking up a small pool of spilled ale with great relish._

_The gunner waved her bottle in the air in a tipsy, well-on-her-way to being good and sloshed manner. “Always wondered why his room ’s blue?”_

_Amara shrugged, looking around like she hadn’t really thought about it before. “It’s calming?”_

_Moze snorted out a laugh. “He was the_ least _calm person on this ship.”_

_Amara couldn’t help but crack a smile, bringing her bottle up to clink against Moze’s. “Amen, sister.” She took a swig, but then let her gaze wander around the personal space again. “But… I still think it was. He always seemed at ease in here… more relaxed.”_

_“Yeah… ‘cause you were fuckin’ his brains out in here. Who wouldn’t be relaxed?” Amara mock-scowled and playfully shoved the gunner, causing her to spill her ale, giggling as she sloshed some on FL4K. The sentient bot just looked between them both and shook his head, while his faithful pet clawed closer so he could reach the newly spilled puddle with his long tongue._

_Amara almost didn’t hear the soft tap at the open door. It wasn’t like this was a private party, but she was still annoyed that they were interrupted in their semi-drunken farewell. What better way to memorialize their teammate than by partaking in his second.... or was it third?...favorite activity. Speaking of… why hadn’t she gotten up to dig out that bottle of ten-year-old Edenian whiskey that she knew he had hidden in the bottom of his footlocker?_

_Zer0 stood silently in the door, hating to interrupt, but… “I’m sorry, Hunters./But Rhys has requested you/at Atlas HQ.”_

_“What… ol’ siege ‘stache can’t send a text?” Moze had popped the cap from another bottle and was on her way to not giving a flying f…._

_“It is a matter/of some sensitivity./Therefore, he sent me.”_

_Amara sighed, pushing to her feet. “Fine. Let’s just get it over with.” She reached down to help the gunner to her feet, making her spill her bottle again. Chew wasn’t even bothering to get up anymore, just ooching across the floor to the newest pool of ale._

_If FL4K could have rolled his eyes, he would have, but instead gave a long sigh, and pointed to the skag. “Stay, boy. Keep guard.”_

_“Pfft… he’s gonna be asleep on his back, snorin’ and droolin all over the place by the time we get back here.”_

_“Most likely, yes. Which means no one will disturb anything here if they wish to keep a surprised skag from 'accidentally' attacking.” Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his oversized jacket, he nodded for Zer0 to lead the way._

_______________

_Rhys met them at the arrival station, fairly hopping from foot-to-foot. He was either desperately impatient, far too caffeinated, or should have made a pit-stop before deciding to greet them. He was wearing his usual jacket, accompanied by strangely out-of-place large framed sunglasses that made him look like a wanna-be celebrity. He immediately turned on his heel and led them toward the sprawl of buildings that made up the Atlas complex…but not toward his office… blathering on about absolutely nothing and changing subjects randomly the entire way._

_They made their way through two buildings and were in the middle of an elevator ride up one of the high-rise towers when Amara finally raised her hand and pushed a finger against his lips to silence him. “Rhys. You only ramble like this when you’re nervous. What’s going on? Is Maliwan back?”_

_“What? Nononononono…no. Nothing like that at aaall.”_

_“You’re such a terrible liar.”_

_“That’s what Lorelei keeps telling me. And here we are!” The elevator *dinged* and the doors slid open onto a sterile-white hallway. “Have you ever noticed how these places are always so white? Who designs these things, anyway?”_

_FL4K stepped in front of him and plucked off the CEO’s shades, revealing a sickeningly purple and blue shiner puffing out the man’s right eye. Tilting his head, the beastmaster let the full force of his size and intimidating appearance sink in to the smaller man. “Why are we here? And who attacked you?”_

_“Okay… okay… look… we… uh…” He took a deep breath and started again. “I know it’s been a couple of days, and I’m super sorry I didn’t get in touch with you earlier, but… well… we didn’t want to get hopes up, in case.”_

_Amara’s heart leapt into her throat, mouth suddenly dry. “In case…what?”_

_Rhys smiled and opened one of the doors. “In case he didn’t make it.”_

_The team crowded into the single doorway… Zane lay in a medical bed in the small room, both hands cuffed to the metal frame, eyes closed, a half dozen tubes sticking out of one arm… but_ breathing _, chest rising and falling regularly. He was thinner than she remembered, even just seeing him a few days before… memory was a messy thing and tended to exaggerate. There were dark veins standing out against his far-too-pale skin, hair so much longer and straggling across his bearded face. It took them several breaths to realize who they were even looking at, minds still convinced that they’d watched him die._

_Amara had both hands clapped over her mouth, shaking her head like she couldn’t actually believe what she was seeing. The little gunner flung her arms around herself, mouth agape and eyes gigantic._

_FL4K was the first to find his voice. “How…?”_

_The CEO grinned. “Zer0 requested a med team standing by just in case. No idea what to expect, he said, but better safe than sorry. Good thing, too… your man was…”_

_“Dead…” Amara mumbled._

_“Yeeaaaahhhh, but there was still a chance. Just had to get to him in time, and Zer0 managed… on the bare edge, but still. Slapped an epinephrine patch on him and hauled ass.” Rhys ran a hand through his hair. “I was gonna call sooner, but… well… it was a little hit or miss. Thought we’d lost him a couple of times. But we have some of the best surgeons…and state-of-the-art tech…” he finished, unable to resist touting Atlas’ reemergence as many times as he could fit it into a conversation._

_He was cut off in mid-sentence as Amara grabbed him in a strangling hug. “Uck… yur wlcom…?” he muffled out against her shoulder._

_Moze wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. “Why’s he… uh… restrained?”_

_Rhys carefully pried himself from Amara’s grip and his eyes followed as she carefully pushed into the room to sit next to the bed, stroking her hand through tangled white locks, frowning at the operative’s bruises and bandages. He hadn’t moved since they peeked in on him._

_“Well….” Looking slightly embarrassed, he slipped his sunglasses back on. “He sort of knocked out two orderlies and gave me this when he came out of the first surgery… sedating him and making sure he wasn’t going to try to strangle another one of my staff was probably safer for everyone.”_

_“Ahhh… yeah. He’s gonna…be okay, though?”_

_“I suppose that depends on your definition of okay?” Rhys shrugged. “He’s alive, but every time he wakes up, he’s aggressively angry.”_

_Amara had heard the last part, frowning. “Maybe… maybe he’s just not waking up to a friendly face.” Glancing over her shoulder, but the operative hadn’t even twitched. “Can I stay?”_

_He shrugged. “Sure. Got plenty of space, sofas, and a food court downstairs.”_

_“Cool…” The gunner piped up. “Then make space, ‘cause we’re movin’ in.”_

_____________

_Amara had slept badly, sometimes on the sofa in the nearby waiting room, sometimes in the chair next to Zane’s bedside, and once she woke up with her head on his hand, slumped on the edge of the bed, half in her chair. He’d grumbled some unintelligible noises once, but hadn’t opened his eyes for her yet. She was starting to be irritated by the medical techs coming and going, checking vitals and adding syringes of meds to the operative’s IVs…suspecting they were keeping him under for his own good, but it made her chest ache every time he stirred or groaned in his induced sleep. Impatience was getting the better of her, so she stood slowly, joints popping from sitting for so long, and shuffled into the empty hall._

_She groaned and stretched, wondering if she could find something decent to eat that wasn’t pre-packaged or full of artificial sweetener, leaning against the wall, blinking against the too bright lights of the hallway. She thought about turning back around and just staying with her friend and partner, but a familiar voice called to her._

_“Hey, Marble! Ellie told us you’d still be here.”_

_She crushed Axton in a friendly hug, then punched him in the arm for the nickname. He’d given it to her one night after he’d had one too many, telling her that her siren tats looked like an eridium marble he had as a kid. Since then, he’d started calling her ‘Marble’ instead of ‘Mara. “Punk,” she smiled up at him, but humor didn’t go all the way to her eyes, reflecting back only exhaustion and worry._

_He pulled her back into a hug, resting his head on top of hers as he held her, voice quieter. “You okay, kiddo?”_

_“More or less. But what are you doing here?”_

_“Zer0 pinged me.”_

_“I didn’t realize you knew Zane.” Once again, she realized that Zane knew_ everyone _…or everyone knew him._

_“Oh, hell yeah...us ex-Dahl boys gotta stick together. Come on, let’s go grab some coffee and chow and catch up… you look like you need someone to talk to.”_

_\----------------------_

The rumble of stone and the sudden lightning-tinged flare snapped the attention of all the vault hunters back to the battlefield. Troy’s body was gone, and impossibly, his sister stood where he had been, ethereal wings sprouting from her back in a surge of power. She lifted off from the ground, laughing and taunting, oblivious to the full spread of the vault hunters around the empty archway.

Zer0 spun around at the sound of her voice, tripping backwards over his own feet and landing on his back, skittering backwards in a sudden panic until his back hit the solid pillar of the vault arch, chest heaving in quick, short, gasping breaths. The glowing blade had been bypassed, gun forgotten in its holster, gaze on Tyreen, even when she broadcast to her followers and vanished after a mocking, “Later, bitches!” was snarled into the broken lens.

The rubble she had buried the other vault hunters in burst upwards, scattering debris… but the assassin didn’t see it, blinded by consuming fear. Amara dusted herself off, grumbling… but threw herself into a full sprint when she caught sight of their immobile teammate. Kneeling beside him, she fumbled for a moment with the latches to his face-plate, finally managing to pull it and the helmet completely off.

“Shhh… breathe…. Look at me…” Taking his face gently in her hands, she turned his pale features toward her own, forcing him to focus on her, speaking softly. “Zane… you’re okay. You’re alive, and she’s gone. Look at me. Focus on me and breathe.” She was afraid he was going to hyperventilate himself into unconsciousness with the severity of the panic attack. It had been far too soon for him to be out here, but of course, he’d insisted in that stubborn tone… so they compromised. He pulled the same trick that Katagawa had used, pretending to be Zer0…even though he was taller, his lankiness let him pull it off if no one looked too closely.

He was still unfocused, shaking uncontrollably. “Sh…she…she…she…”

“Breeeeeeeeeathe.”

“She…she’s _alive_.”

Amara leaned in closer. “I know. But she’s gone, and she doesn’t know that _you’re_ alive.” Kissing him softly on the forehead, then touching her nose to his, forcing him to only focus on her, blocking out everything else. “She isn’t going to take you back. I won’t let it happen.”

His breathing finally started to slow and he nodded slowly, blue eye coming back into focus and the shivering subsiding. “Promise me.” Gloved hands rising to cover hers.

“I promise. She won’t take you from me…” Glancing back over her shoulder at their approaching teammates.”…from _us_. And when we face her again, it will be together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have to thank Five-7 for doing a rough read-through of the first draft of this chapter, and for the inspiration in her own work of the existing friendship Amara has with Axton. I love the headcanon.
> 
> Also thank you to unbrokenblackbird for the wonderful words and support and little snippets I probably stole from their stories. <3.
> 
> Hope this chapter makes up some for the last. Chapter 9 was never meant to be a final ending, although I started to consider it as a possibility. More to come if you want it.


	11. Nothing Fits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zane rejoins the team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only marginally proofed, because we're in the middle of moving, working 60+ hours every week, and my brain is elsewhere... but the characters are still pestering me to tell the story. And I keep changing the title because nothing fits.

By the time they’d gotten back to Sanctuary, Zane was leaning heavily on Amara, jaw set in a hard line, trying not to show how much pain he was actually in. The meds he’d shot himself up with to get through the fight with Troy had long since worn off with the adrenaline, and he was struggling to walk or put any weight on his knee. Every connection with his artificial parts was screaming at him, like his body was determined that he’d pay dearly for that much-needed act of vengeance. He didn’t regret it… or maybe he regretted it a little… but he knew he’d always be bitter over it if he didn’t see the bastard die with his own eyes. Pulling the trigger himself had been a much-needed bonus.

The siren helped him into his room and eased him onto his bunk, looking like she really wanted to tell him off, but they’d exchanged enough words before he’d glared at them all while jamming a hypo into his leg, yanked off the brace…which the doctors had forced on him when he refused crutches or a cane… and gone out with the team whether they fecking liked it or not.

He was shivering from the pain by the time he was able to get himself out of his boots, and Amara laid a gentle hand on his feverish forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Lie down…I’ll see if Tannis has any muscle relaxers.” She leaned down to press her lips to his damp skin, and he closed his eyes with a terse nod.

By the time she came back with Tannis, he was out… most likely passed out rather than actually sleeping. She watched as their resident sawbones stuck his arm with the hypo, hoping it would transform unconsciousness into the rest he still so desperately needed, then took a seat at his desk to watch over him and pick at her nail polish as she fretted over his condition.

_________

_When Zane floated to consciousness with the foggy, cottony, fuzzy feeling of lots of drugs and way too much insta-health, it was a bit like being hungover, except there wasn’t a splitting headache and a complaining stomach. More like ants crawling over his skin every place the chemical compound had stitched flesh back together with unnatural speed. He could feel his pulse behind his eyes and his mouth was so dry it hurt to breathe._

_He tried to stretch, to clear out the muddled thoughts and get out of this awful position. He must have passed out and been in the same spot all night…at least, he assumed it was daytime now from the lights he could sense behind closed lids. But his arms didn’t want to work the way he wanted… and he froze at the sound of metal clinking, needing desperately to swallow, but there was nothing to force down his parched throat._

No….nonononono… I was _free_ … wasn’t I?

 _No, not free…_ dead _. He could still feel the dull spot where the bullet had ripped through, puncturing a lung and shattering a few ribs on the way. He remembered the way Amara had looked at him as he bled out…so lost and so angry at the same time. What he wouldn’t give to see her face, even if she never spoke to him again for putting them all through that shite… just a glimpse of her angelic features would be worth the sacrifice. He groaned, unwilling to open his eyes and see what awfulness was in store for him for failing Tyreen this time._

 _“Zane?” A soft hand touched his cheek lightly, tentatively. “Zane…wake up.” His brow furrowed… that definitely wasn’t the tone of a psychopath. Carefully, eyes fluttered open, blurry from forced slumber… he tried to reach up to rub his face and clear his eye, but was halted again, only centimeters from his starting point, another clink of chains sparking a deep fury…he’d tried so hard to escape and here he was_ again _. Fucking_ AGAIN!

_Jerking at the chains, he let out a low growl, starting to fight the restraints… until he heard his name once more._

_“Zane… you’re safe! You’re safe!” Hands gently grasped either side of his face, forcing him to focus on the figure hovering over him… beautiful dark curls that ended in a blue-dyed tail falling over her shoulder, purple swirls of light mosaicked down the arm, intense eyes that begged him to stop… to look…to_ see _…_

 _“M..mm…’mara?” He hated the sound of his own voice, choked and wavering, croaking out a dry whisper. He had to be hallucinating again, right? But she smiled…_ smiled _… and a sense of calm washed away his anger, at least temporarily. He wanted to raise his hands to cover hers and twine their fingers together, but he still couldn’t move his hands, and a whine escaped his throat before he could stop it._

_“I know… I’m sorry. Rhys said you got violent…” She broke off her response and pressed her lips to his, not expecting it to be returned… she just needed to taste him, reassure herself that he was really aware this time, after so many false starts. “But you’re safe, I promise.” She started to pull away, started to tell him to wait and she’d get someone to release him from the restraints…’Eh…fuck it.’ With a surge of violet light down her arm, she snapped the metal, releasing one hand. Sluggishly he wrapped his fingers around her glowing digits and lifted them to his lips, just reassuring himself that she was real and he wasn’t dreaming that he’d escaped…again._

_“Whhhere?”_

_“Atlas. Zer0 brought you here after… after Mordecai…”_

_So he hadn’t hallucinated it… he_ had _died. Or come so close to it that there was barely a difference._

_“I’ll go get the doctors. They’ll want to know you’re awake and not throwing anyone out a window this time.”_

_Shaking his head urgently, “Nnoo… sssstay.” He saw her smile again and closed his eyes to imprint it in his memory…it had been too long since he’d seen that smile, as strained as it was, and he had truly started to believe he’d never see it again. Starting to drift again, his awareness melted into a welcoming darkness before her touch on his cheek broke through the fog. He blinked back awake to Amara giving him a concerned look._

_"S’okay. Tired.” Hearing her exhale a relieved breath like she’d been holding it, he let a bare smile of his own tweak the corner of his lips before drifting back to sleep, no need for sedatives or meds to force slumber this time… just a bone-deep insistence from his body to rest and heal._

___________

He felt like he’d slept for days… and when he checked his ECHO, discovered that it really had been that long…about a day and a half in total this time. He hated the constant sense of lost time...but hell, he hated almost everything right now. _Almost_ … seeing Amara asleep in his desk chair, her face pressed against the laptop keyboard, snoring so very softly that it was unbearably adorable… he couldn’t help the smile that crept across his lips.

Dragging himself from his bunk, he limped his way over to her, dull ache still prodding at his limbs and making him stiff. Popping a few joints on the way, his leg still complained at the previous abuse, but not as savagely as it had after their battle with the twins. _Time, old man…it’s gonna take time_. At some point, she or Tannis had replaced the leg brace, and as much as he hated to admit it, it helped. Sighing, he reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from the sleeping siren’s face. She snorted and jerked upright with a muttered, “M’awake!” which also woke up his laptop, cycling through the amber-colored spider emblem screensaver.

“How long ya been here, ‘Mar?”

She ran a hand across her eyes blearily… “What time is it?”

“Late? Early? Depends on yer definition.”

“Mm.” She made a face, wrinkling her nose as she stood up with a tired groan. “You. Shower.” Then walked around him, fell into _his_ bed, pulled the blankets over herself, and went back to sleep. He could only chuckle, heading to the bath for a much-needed clean-up, wincing as he saw the broken mirror over the sink. Sliding the door closed, he started the shower to warm up the water to the scalding temperature he preferred, looking at his shattered reflection.

He’d done _that_ the third day he’d been back on board. He’d managed to hold to the doctor’s orders for two whole days of rest and relaxation, but by the third, he’d finally had enough of that shite. It was past time to get rid of the crazy hermit/POW look, anyway, and he’d gone in with a razor and a pair of scissors, ready to unveil the old Zane once more. Instead, he’d stared at his reflection, barely recognizing himself anymore…features drawn and gaunt, new scars, the milky white orb of his blind eye and the icy blue of the other were the only things that still felt or looked like _him_.

His gaze had trekked down his arm, tracing the lines of the dark tattoos… he’d once thought that the markings of the sirens was a thing of beauty…now, it just made him shiver. Even Amara’s. He’d flinched back from her several times when he’d caught the swirl of elemental spirals from the corner of his eye, and it made his heart ache at the look on her face every time he shied away from her. He adored her, needed her close by, craved her touch…and at the same time, she was the living embodiment of the thing he now feared. The anger at himself, and at the twins for warping his mind and his body, made him see red… when he could focus again, his knuckles were bloody, and the cracked pieces of mirror still on the wall and fallen into the sink were stained with it as well. He caught himself reaching for one of the shards…but tore himself away from that dark path, going on autopilot to see Tannis for a few stitches and didn’t return to his room for the rest of the day, wandering around the ship like a zombie.

___________

_The entire team had come by to visit, but as soon as the elevator opened, they were accosted by shouting and some excessively colorful curses as a white-coated medic fled from Zane’s room, followed by a metal cane being flung in the medic’s direction. It clanged loudly against the door and bounced off, ricocheting back into the room with the clattering ring of steel against tile._

_Out of the line of fire, the medic straightened her jacket and approached as she saw them emerge from the elevator, clearing her throat. “Good… maybe YOU can talk some sense into him.”_

_“Ummm?” Moze glanced toward the room, then back to the doctor with a snort. “That guy? Yeah… good luck with that.” Smirking, she skipped around the medic and toward the room, disappearing inside with an unspoken declaration of ‘not It!’. “ZANE! Buddy!”_

_The doctor scowled at the remaining pair. “He either needs one more surgery now to repair his knee, or he uses a cane and a brace for the rest of his life. OR we amputate later after he cripples himself completely trying to walk without it, and he can look forward to a full leg replacement to match his hand. Those are his choices.” With a huff, she pushed her glasses up, smoothed out her lapels, and marched off in the opposite direction._

_Amara glanced up a FL4K with an ‘any ideas?’ question written on her features. The beastmaster only shrugged._

___________

Zane sat at the bridge, feet kicked up on the console, idly shuffling a deck of cards with his new left hand, occasionally reaching over to click a couple of commands on the ship’s keyboard and watching the view change on the overhead screen. Being the eyes and ears of the team was never the fun part of the job, but as long as he’d been down after his last attempt at overexerting himself, both Moze and Amara had collectively put their feet down and _refused_ to let him trek through the wilderness with them. Even whining about this being one of the few places in the galaxy he’d never actually been didn’t sway them in the slightest.

A dozen cards slipped from his grasp and flew across the bridge in an arc. He grumbled under his breath as he put his feet down and scoot-rolled the chair across the floor to retrieve them. Spinning around, he pushed off the wall with one foot and let the wheels send him sliding back across the deck, as BALEX snorted at his lack of effort. “That’s just damn lazy, man.”

“Woulda been lazier to make Claptrap fetch’em. By th’ way… is anyone aware how bloody dangerous it is to have unattached chairs on th’ deck of a spaceship?” Said the fully grown, adult operative as he kept said chair spinning in a dizzying circle.

“Entertainment's better than seat belts.”

“Right ya are, boyo. Right ya are.” Stopping his spin, he set the cards next to the keyboard and fished a tiny screwdriver from his open toolkit, flipped open a panel at his wrist and peered into the electronics before tightening a servo. Flexing his fingers a few times, he scowled, made another adjustment, and then picked up the cards again, leaning back in the chair as he started another run through the complex one-handed shuffles, mind wandering as he considered whether flames would be the better paint job for the metal appendage or if he should just stick with the spider.

Moxxi sauntered her way in, smiling at him as she sat in the only chair nearby. “Hey, sugar… you practicing to be a blackjack dealer in your spare time?” Fishnets whispered over skin as she crossed her legs, peering at him through dark, heavy lashes.

He grunted, managing not to roll his eyes… she meant well, but the constant sidelong glances and conversations all starting with, “Are you alright?” or “How you feeling?” from the citizens and crew had gotten old fast. Hers was just a more subtle way of saying the same thing as everyone else.

“Helps me tweak th’ settings.” He cut the deck using only his thumb and ring-finger, cut it again with his middle, and folded the cards back into each other using his pinky as leverage. “That’s better…”

She raised a delicate brow, “They didn’t adjust it before you left Atlas?”

Now he did roll his eyes. “Eh… it may be good enough fer th’ masses, but I want th’ extra oomph.” He was already more mechanical and cybernetic now than he’d ever wanted to be, with a brand new stainless steel knee joint and a whole shiny new robotic hand to match. Wilhelm had been a cautionary tale for anyone wanting to voluntarily mod themselves into something less than human. But _he_ didn’t even get a choice in whether he wanted it or not, dammit. He’d done just fine with the few mods he did have, thank you very much, but the fucking Calypsos had forced this on him. He’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to lose the hand, at least, but the docs at Atlas said there was no way he’d ever use it again after being broken and left to heal so badly. Having two fingers removed by the CoV hadn’t helped the chances of a recovery, either.

The mods he _chose_ to get years ago had made him better at his job… let him see again, enhanced access to information, gave him the advantage against his targets. What he _had_ to get now was because of neglect and pure malice… of being in the wrong place at the wrong time… of nothing he could do to prevent or change, and it was _infuriating_. He’d been so careful… or was just naturally lucky in his typical recklessness. He was ‘caught’ when he wanted to be…except for that _one_ drunken episode on Eden-3. Or maybe two...okay, _three_ times. Regardless, he’d avoided death and major injury, traps and assassins, angry former employers, a bounty that was big enough that he’d considered turning himself in for it a few times, and survived every murderous psychopath that he’d ever crossed paths with, including, but not limited to, his own family. But two sadistic ECHOnet fame-seekers barely out of their teens was all it took to reduce him to an even more paranoid and murderously psychotic version of himself.

“Zane? Sugar?” Moxxi’s voice brought him back, and when he glanced in her direction, there was real worry in her eyes. He followed her gaze down to his mechanical hand…he had bent the entire deck of cards in half, and was in the process of crushing the few that hadn’t sprayed from his grasp. He let out a slow breath, willing his fingers to relax, and set the mangled cards carefully on the console with an almost apologetic gentleness.

“Sorry, Mox. Mind’s just…wanderin’.”

“Into distinctly unpleasant places.” She looked like she really wanted to ask outright if he was okay, but she’d already seen his reaction when one too many people asked him the same thing over and over again, innocently or not. No one had heard what he’d said to Tannis when she’d asked him that very thing, not once, but twice in a row. The look on his face and the low, cold tone of his voice had made her features drain of color so quickly that Moxxi thought the scientist was going to pass out at his feet. Instead, the nervous siren had turned and fled, nearly knocking Claptrap down the stairs in her haste to retreat to her lab. She’d shoved out two waiting patients, locked the med-bay doors, turned out all the lights, and refused to come out or speak to anyone for days.

After she finally emerged, Moxxi had tried to gently coax out what he’d said to her, but Tannis only shrugged and laughed nervously, “Oh… something about if I knew his brother… then I just couldn’t understand what else he said. You know… that Zaford brogue… impossible to decipher,” and refused to say anything more on the subject.

“Yeah… seems to be me default lately.”

“Zane….”

“Don’t, Mox… don’t even say whatever it is that is about to leave yer pretty painted lips. I’m workin’ on it, okay?”

“I know, sugar.” She stood with a whisper of silk on leather, her hand resting gently on his shoulder for a moment as she gazed down at him with a tender, motherly expression that she rarely let anyone else see, voice soft. “But I’m still here if you decide you need an ear after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that some of the jumps feel random and are a bit abrupt... but it reflects my state of mind lately, and I figured it fit well with what Zane was going through, too, with his thoughts a complete mess. 
> 
> As always, thank you for your patience and for reading!


	12. Same Hell, Different Devils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vault hunters fret over the stability of their teammate.
> 
> Warnings: Referenced non-con, PTSD, panic attacks, self-harm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's only been 5 days since the last chapter, but I'm sick of unpacking boxes, and had to bang out some serious angst instead.

“I’m worried about him.”

Moxxi said it like it was the start of a normal conversation, wiping down the bartop, pointedly not looking at either Tannis or Amara. Both of the sirens were drinking juice, sans alcohol, too early in the day to imbibe even if they’d been so inclined. And lately, there had been a _lot_ to tempt anyone into the bottom of a bottle.

“You say that every day, as if it’s something new,” Tannis sighed in response, but Amara still knew exactly what Moxxi meant and was right there with her.

Zane wasn’t really doing much in the way of ‘recovering,’ at least not what she’d imagined it would be, or even what Axton had told her to expect. On the plus side, he was still sober…but as a replacement for that habit, he seemed to be embracing his darkness in ways that were terrifying. His planet-side body count when they went CoV-hunting was just shy of genocidal, and Moze had even noped out of a mission with him after watching him tear apart an entire bandit clan with his digital claws, walking out of the camp covered in blood and with a terrifyingly fangy grin. It went beyond survival and into the realm of displacement, on the border of purely sadistic glee. Even Amara had felt a cold shiver down her spine the first time she heard that dark, wicked laugh leave his lips, so different from his previous boisterous, contagious guffaws.

“I know… but I’m more concerned that he’s lost himself. We don’t really have him here with us. Body, perhaps, but definitely not in mind. I’m worried he expects to wake up every day still in chains.”

“And you’re sure it’s not simply because he no longer frequents your establishment?” Tannis looked for some logic, but she wasn’t really one to comment on the operative’s status, staying clear of him as much as possible after their confrontation. For the moment, and until it was proved otherwise, he occupied the same irrational psycho status as his brothers, and in her mind, it was not possible to logic away genetic insanity.

“I do miss the extra income his binges brought in, but _NO_ …” snapping out of her momentary reverie and giving the sirentologist a long, exasperated look. “That’s _not_ what I meant.”

Amara pushed her drink away with a heavy sigh. “I don’t know how to reach him. Or if he knows or cares that he’s broken.” It felt like Zane had shut down since his return, even more than usual. Maybe she was expecting too much? Or maybe comparing him to Tannis, who still jumped like a startled cat at every perceived threat, was probably not the most appropriate, especially considering she was only a captive for such a short time and not subjected to the Calypso twins’ whims and exploitation on a nearly daily basis. Even she was disassociating with the events, like it had happened to someone else. Now that he was back with them, it was hard not to blindly view him as he previously was… as they _expected_ him to be and not what he was actually dealing with or how the experience had changed him.

Lilith treated him like he’d never even been away...when she wasn’t ignoring him altogether. Amara had seen the way he looked at her when she called him ‘killer’ now, like he was convinced she knew how far he’d fallen and didn’t appreciate being called out on it. She’d also watched Lilith pass him on deck and never even look in his direction or acknowledge his presence.

But he wasn’t just surrendering to his murderous proclivities, he was falling into despair at the same time. She’d barged into his room once after he'd failed to answer, finding him curled up beneath the blanket in his bunk, shivering and wordless. She’d held him until he finally slept, then stayed through the nightmares until he woke exhausted and bleary the next afternoon.

FL4K had come to her just the other day, concerned when they swore they heard sobbing from the normally stoic operative’s room. Mr. Chew had whined and scratched at the door separating their rooms until FL4K had opened it for the skag to slip through and trot over to where the operative slumped over his desk. Even self-aware, the AI was uncomfortable enough with human emotions to leave the comforting to the pack. At the insistent nuzzling, Zane dropped his hand down to rest on the tame skag’s head, and after a head-bunt to his leg and another whine, Mr. Chew laid down next to him, providing a comforting presence if nothing else. The beastmaster was caught between following their pet to try to show support for a teammate or minding their own business, finally deciding slinking away to find the more suitable human to deal with the situation was the best option.

A few days after, Moze had nearly been mowed down by a fleeing Claptrap, jumping up to the railing and clinging on for dear life as the rusty yellow bot whizzed by, screaming at the top of his voice modulator all the way back to his hideout in Ellie’s shuttle bay. The flabbergasted pair huddled in his open doorway, as he shook hard enough that his gears rattled together, cowering in the corner and whimpering, “I’m sorry, Captain Flynt, sir! I didn’t mean it! Please don’t hurt me!”

Ellie’s eyes went wide, and she gripped Moze’s arm urgently as she steered them away from the terrified little bot with an unhappily drawled directive, “Go straight up an’ tell Ma what’s goin’ on. _Don’t_ let Lilith know yet.”

The worst, however, had happened only yesterday. After a long sleepless night, he’d actually sat down at his workbench to tinker, and Amara had left him alone to go through her long-delayed daily workout and some much-needed meditation. She’d tried to get him to accompany her, but he’d insisted he was fine right where he was. Rolling her eyes playfully at what seemed like his much more normal aversion to exercise and self-centering, she’d given him a peck on the cheek and let him lose himself in his gadgets.

He didn’t even look up when she returned, intent on whatever he was working on, and she almost turned around and left him to his hobbies… except she noticed the thick red fluid that was steadily pooling on the floor next to his chair. Uneasily, she crept closer, forced to wrench a blade from his grasp, poised as he was to cut himself again, deep slices already making a morbid and bloody decoration down his arm and across the black tattoos. He was rocking back and forth in his chair, muttering a mantra under his breath as the cuts bled rivulets down his arm and dripped from his metal fingertips, “Not me. Not me. Not me.” Tossing the knife out of his reach, she silently gathered him into her arms, rocking with him and weeping into his silver locks, heart breaking with the knowledge that she couldn’t really help him cope on her own. Knowing so much of what he’d been through was bad enough, but watching him slowly fall apart in front of them was somehow so much worse.

In desperation, she’d called Axton in the middle of the night…except it didn’t seem to be night where he was, and he was way too chipper for the conversation she needed to have, answering with a perky, “Hey, little lady!” His expression had sobered immediately on seeing her face and the puffiness of her eyes from the many tears and incessant lack of sleep as she spilled her concerns across the connection.

Now she sighed again, playing with the rim of her glass, meeting Moxxi’s look of concern. “Axton will be here tomorrow. He’s going to try to talk to him.”

“Is talk going to help?” Tannis mused, peering into her now empty glass with a frown like it might have held all the answers had it still been half full. “He’s vehemently refused many opportunities to discuss matters with me. I was hoping our mutual experience might make him more open. Instead he threatened…” She broke off, suddenly aware that both Moxxi and Amara were staring at her, wide-eyed. “…well, I simply don’t understand much of what comes out of his mouth, so naturally, I just assumed it was a threat.” The backtracking sounded weak, even in her own ears, so she set the glass down and pushed it away. “He is an infamous corporate assassin from an equally infamous family of Pandoran sociopaths. What outside experience could our commando friend possibly offer?”

“He was a prisoner of war, too.”

_______

Amara paced the shuttle bay until Axton arrived, even after Ellie had complained that she was keeping everyone from their actual jobs with all her “shimmyin’ back ‘n forth, enough to drive a gal to distraction.” Of course, once Axton arrived, Ellie’s ‘distraction’ immediately changed focus as she cooed in his direction, “Hey, sugar boots!”

The commando gave her a grin, then turned a much more concerned smile to the siren, dropping his pack on the floor and opening his arms for her. Their shared hug was welcoming, friendly, and comforting, but the siren was still glad Zane wasn’t here to see it… in his state of mind, she was afraid he’d punch Axton’s lights out, or worse. Probably worse. _Definitely_ worse. She sighed heavily, and he gave her another squeeze before letting go. “Hey, Marble…that bad, huh?”

Nodding, she turned to climb the stairs out of the garage as he shouldered his pack again and followed. “He’s falling to pieces, Axton. And as much as I hate to admit it, I don’t know how to help him.” She’d told him how she’d found him cutting, about the broken mirror, about the confrontations and how quick he was to anger…and how much it pained her when she’d see the beginnings of fear in his eyes at the glow of her siren marks, even when they had been in the middle of lovemaking.

What she _didn’t_ tell him was how Zane had suffered a full-blown panic attack the first time she tried to take control and be on top. It had been so amazing to feel his body against hers again, and in the throes of passion, she’d used her strength to flip him onto his back so she could ride. Her intent had been to make him feel like he didn’t have to work for _her_ pleasure and to show him just how much she’d missed him. Instead, he had started to hyperventilate, shoving her off with a violent push backwards, and flailing himself out of their shared bunk as he frantically tried to untangle himself from the sheets. Once he was free, all he could get out was a single, at-the-time baffling, word, “… _control!_ ”

Much later, after she’d held him while he fought off the latest round of his internal demons, he admitted that he felt like he had no control over anything anymore. She had to piece the rest together from what he didn’t say. The constant lack of consent and forced pleasure had been mentally scarring, among everything else the twins had done… the body unconditionally giving in to what the mind and heart violently rejected…her innocent attempt at giving him a moment of reprieve had instead driven him back into the nightmare of always being at someone else’s mercy. It had made him even more distant, and she agonized that she was inadvertently the cause for his further withdrawal into himself.

Axton grunted, unhappy with the discouraged tone in her voice, when she was usually so confident and certain. “I dunno what help I’m gonna be, really. I saw some of the broadcasts.” He almost blurted out how he would have just eaten a bullet if he’d come out of _that_ kind of torture, but knew that image was only going to make her worry more. “I’ll do what I can, though. He’s really not gonna want to rehash the experience…maybe ever. That kind of hardcore shit takes time to learn to live with. I need you to be ready in case he doesn’t want to.”

Stopping in the middle of the walkway, she turned to face him. “I watched my little brother go down a bad path and couldn’t do anything… but I have to try. I don’t expect to flip a switch and everything goes back to normal.”

He nodded. “Good. ‘Cause you know already how fucked up _I_ am.” Giving her a quick grin in an attempt to ease her mood with the self-deprication, at least a little. She slugged him half-heartedly on the shoulder, so he took it as a positive sign. “You really care about him, don’t you?” Her face flushed with crimson, color high on her cheeks, and her gaze darted away. “Yeah, you do.” He couldn’t help but smile. “I’m happy for that, Amara. I really am… he feels the same way?”

She kept her gaze on the floor, like she was guilty over sharing their mutual bond “He _did_. He didn’t even have to say anything, but I could always see in his face and in his actions just how he felt. And I wasn’t imagining it… the rest of the team saw it, too. Neither of us intended it… we just sorta fell into it…and ended up without the time to really let it see where it would go.”

“Ain’t that the way it usually goes.”

“Maybe. But I can’t reach him at all now. He’s quiet, jumpy…withdrawn…or just straight pissed off.”

“Has he hurt you?” A protectiveness rose in his voice, remembering the stories of the orderlies and Atlas staff the operative had maimed during his initial return and recovery, but she shook her head. “Or anyone else on Sanctuary?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s terrified a few people, Tannis included, but it feels like he’s lashing out at everything… not really premeditated, just reactionary. I’m not making an excuse or covering up for him, either. It genuinely feels like who he was...” She swallowed hard, loathe to make the comparison, “…died when Mordecai pulled the trigger. Probably was dying even before that.”

“I’m so sorry, Marble. I didn’t know it had gone so far. I’ll… do my best. I promise.” He just hoped the operative was willing to be saved from himself, or this was going to be an extremely unhappy ending for all of them.


	13. We Have Met the Enemy, and They Are Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get far, far worse before they get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only four days this time, and over 4K words. 
> 
> Can you say 'obsessive'?
> 
> Don't expect it to be a habit, though. My schedule and brain (and emotions) can't keep up this kind of pace forever.
> 
> Warnings: So very many things...

“Have to say, boyo…yer idea of ‘camping’ sucks.”

Axton had to concede the point. Sitting in a chilly cave on the already far-too-wet planet of Eden-6, watching the rain pouring down outside, was not really what he’d had in mind when he’d suggested getting off of Sanctuary for a while. It had seemed like a great idea at the time… far away from the operative’s home planet, far enough away from the ship to be a pain to get to quickly, but still on familiar ground. No surprises from the wildlife that they hadn’t already encountered, knowing what to expect from the various locals, and close to a friendly haven in case everything went to hell. They’d only been out here for a day, and already the operative was sullen and tight-lipped. Every attempt at conversation had resulted in a disinterested grunt in reply, so he was actually relieved when Zane opened up enough to grouse about the weather.

“How was I supposed to know it was the rainy season?”

Zane gave him a long glare, and gestured to the cavern entrance. “It’s a swamp planet. It’s _always_ the rainy season, ya daft git.”

“Hey, _you_ agreed to it.”

“I only agreed because she asked me to.” Axton didn’t have to ask who ‘she’ was, and it was actually a hopeful slip of the tongue. It proved the operative still cared, even if it was buried under a mess of tangled emotions and shredded sense of self. “And because yer one of me boyos.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” The commando leaned back on his bedroll, tucking his hands beneath his head. “Look... She did ask me to drag you out into the wilds to have a chat with you. But…”

Zane sat cross-legged and just stared at the far-too-relaxed ex-soldier from across the low, barely flickering campfire. If Axton had cared to look, the shifting shadows across the operative’s bushy brow and pointed beard made his features look like he was the devil himself, and would have been a perfect match if he’d had his hair shorter and gelled as usual. He hadn’t cut it since his captivity, however, keeping it tied back in a long ronin’s tail. Zane wasn’t even sure why he’d skipped the barber, except that the cocky, self-sure, extravagant persona just didn’t feel right anymore. Plus all the styling was more fecking trouble than it was worth…which was yet another sign to himself that he was fecked in the head.

“ _But_?”

“But it’s not just that. I know what it’s like.”

“You know what _what’s_ like?”

“I was a POW back when I was still with Dahl. You knew that already. This kind of thing can help, you know...get away from the day-to-day where it's quiet...”

“Yeah, I remember you talkin’ about that.” Zane paused, then scowled, thoughtful expression suddenly turning sour. “Oooooh… I see. You and ‘Mara think we’re all sympatico now, right? Both of us suffering under the oppressive heel of a corporate enemy?”

“Uh…not really, no.” Well, _that_ was an abrupt turnabout from their civil discussion, and Axton blinked in confusion.

“Both of us tortured for information while we only ever give up our name, rank, and number…or not say anyt’ing at all, and jus’ spit blood in their eye and laugh?” Zane’s accent was getting deeper, thicker as he gradually gave in to the irrational/logical trail his madness was taking him down. He wasn’t sitting anymore, rising to hands and knees, predatory and snarling. How could he have _not_ seen that this was just another way of trying to ‘fix’ him, and now they were even ganging up on him to do it. He should have known the whole, ‘hey, let’s get away from this madhouse for a while and catch up’ was just another attempt to get him to talk about shite he just wanted to _forget_...some kind of misguided and unwanted therapy so they could all get back to their own version of ‘normal’ without him fecking it all up for them. 

Axton sat up at the sudden change in tone and posture, propping up on his elbows, giving the operative a baffled expression and wondering how the conversation had so quickly devolved from zero to what-the-fuck in under sixty seconds. “That’s not what I was…”

“Ya know what it’s like ta have ev’ry horrible thing done to ya broadcast to th’ entire galaxy by a pair of narcissistic fame-seekers, do ya? Yer every weakness shown ta everyone who’s ever even _thought_ about hunting ya down for a quick payday? I know ya have a bounty on yer head, too, Ax…so ya must know _exactly_ what that’s like.”

“No, it’s not the…”

“Ya know what it’s like for th ‘enemy’ ta torture ya _every_ day…not because they need somethin’ from ya, or to turn you against yer buddy in th’ next cell over…but because they think it’s _funny_? Because they get their jollies from watching other people scream in agony an' die fer their entertainment.”

“No, I…”

Flynt was stalking the commando now, crawling his way around the dying fire, and Axton found himself unconsciously scooting backwards. He had so very badly underestimated the level of crazy that Zane had sunk to…or maybe always had. There had been plenty of stories, of course…things Zane had told him while they shared a pint or a dozen, things that Axton had heard in the field, and even a few things he’d personally seen in the aftermath of an infamous Flynt hit. Brutally efficient and undeniably deadly, a thing of beauty and nightmarishly horrifying at the same time. And now that same man was laser-focused on him and very visibly pissed off.

“Ya _know_ what it’s like ta be cut an’ healed an’ shot an’ healed an’ burned an’ healed, again an’ ag’in, until ya dunnae remember what it’s like ta _not_ be in hell?” Zane crowded into the commando’s space, forcing him up against the cold, damp rock, invading every millimeter of his personal space, noses only a hair away from touching. If it had been any other situation…any other _conversation_ … it could have been sexual the way the operative was slithering over him, straddling his lap and baring a fangy, come-hither smile. “Ta have every ounce of kindness crushed out of ya with every bruise an’ bullet hole. Ta know yer own teammates walked right past, and be forced ta watch that replayed over ‘n over until words like ‘hope’ have nae meanin’.” He was too close, too dangerous, too angry, and Axton swallowed past a lump in his throat as the operative paused, drawing in a deep breath like he was scenting the soldier’s fear. To his credit, Axton didn’t turn his head away, didn’t draw his weapon, locking eyes and trying to make the killer see him as a friend, not as an enemy and definitely not as prey. Unfortunately, he didn’t think the lanky assassin was getting the memo.

“I’m not comparing…”

“Of course nae, Axie,” Flynt purred, lips nearly brushing skin as he breathed out the words…and then a metal hand was at the commando’s throat, pressing against his windpipe and any question about intent was swept away by the need to breathe. It wasn’t urgent yet, but Axton's hands still shot up to claw ineffectually at the unyielding grip. “Because ya wouldn’t know what it’s like ta _die_ at th’ hands of yer captors, would ya, _boyo?_ Ta be brought back for nothin’ more than casual entertainment, and nae because someone _cared_ if ya lived 'r died. To never know what ta expect day-ta-day, because they’re even crazier than _you_. Ta know it all happens because they’ve no reason fer anythin’ except self-glorification an’ ratings…and only because one day ya were in th’ wrong feckin’ place at th’ wrong _fuckin’_ time _._ And ya weren't even their actual target, but they decided yer much more _fun._ ” Flynt had stopped asking rhetorical questions; instead, simple but evil truths spewed out of his lips as he leaned even closer, until their bodies were pressed together and he was whispering in Axton’s ear, fingers tightening around his throat until the commando couldn’t even whimper.

“Then ta be _raped_ over an’ over…” It was the first time Axton had actually heard anyone use the word aloud, least of all by the operative. Everyone had tiptoed around it, pretending that if no one actually said it, maybe it could be glossed over…but there it was, and his eyes widened at the shudder in Flynt’s voice that took hold as soon as he spoke it. “Ta know th’ entire ECHOnet has seen it and uses it fer their sick wank material…taken an’ taken until it has nae meanin’… until…” Flynt breathed in deeply, then exhaled warm air gently against his ear, “…until ya start ta enjoy th’ pain an’ humiliation, because it’s all ya have left.” The hand at Axton’s neck loosened slightly, just enough for him to gasp in a breath, before fingers started crushing in earnest.

Flynt drew back, head tilting slightly as he watched the blonde commando struggling beneath him. “Ta be made ta believe ya have feelin’s fer yer fuckin’ captor and become their own personal demented feckin’ _plaything!_ Ta wish for death _every_ day an’ nae have the ability ta just let it fuckin’ end.” The last was hissed out between gritted teeth, and in meeting the assassin’s single blue eye, Axton saw nothing there he recognized. For the first time in the operative’s presence, he thought about throwing out his turret. It would escalate an already bad situation, but he was quickly running out of options along with breath. “THAT is what ya think all of ya unnerstand, _boyo_? But... ya... dunnae... have... a feckin’... _clue_.”

With the spots dancing in front of his eyes, it was a complete surprise when the grip around his throat loosened enough for him to suck in a single frantic breath before oxygen was cut off again by the operative’s lips crashing into his, hungry and reckless. It took a long heartbeat to respond, his mind thrown into reverse and his body torn between needing air and suddenly wanting this far too much. He tried to process it even as his own lips parted to welcome the exploration, letting go from the death grip on the operative’s metal fingers and instead sliding up to cup his face gently between his hands.

His brain finally reengaged when he realized that he still couldn’t get air, screaming at him how wrong this was, how it was just a ploy to let his guard down, how he needed to just put the operative down before dying at his hands. Even to a military man and a seasoned vault hunter like Axton, Zane Flynt was honestly terrifying. He could all too easily see Zane snapping his neck without a second thought, leaving him here in the middle of nowhere and giving Amara some very plausible excuse for arriving back on Sanctuary alone. How long would it be before anyone found his lifeless bones, picked clean by the predators…if ever?

In desperation, he flung out a hand, releasing his turret, hoping the threat would be enough, but in the same flash of mechanical parts unfolding, he saw the blue digi-clone spark to life. He really didn’t want to start shooting…this had already gone so very badly… but Flynt only grinned as the turret couldn’t decide which was the biggest threat, spinning back and forth, buzzing and humming as it targeted between him and his clone, while the handsome blue bastard simply kept its gun trained on the machine, knowing the real version of itself could handle the flesh-and-blood soldier struggling in his grasp just fine.

Flynt clicked his tongue, shaking his head at him. “Got ourselves a Truxican stand-off, dun we, Axie?”

Axton was seeing heavy black spots at the corners of his vision, and in one last (futile?) attempt that hopefully wouldn’t end in his violent death, he dug into his pocket and brought out a small glass marble, holding it up between them. Inside the glass, the simple purple swirl design glowed and pulsed like it was alive, even as the embers of their tiny fire burned itself out behind them. Zane’s eyes flicked to the object, a moment of confusion and recognition stuttering across his features, softening his expression, and loosening his grip.

Axton used the moment of distraction to deck Flynt across the jaw, shoving him aside with what remained of his strength. He rolled over and dragged himself up on all fours while reaching for his gun, but all of his attention was consumed by trying to breathe again, coughing and gasping for precious air past a bruised and constricted windpipe. As the living operative was being flung violently across the rocky ground, the digi-clone opened fire on the turret, and Axton’s little lady responded with fire and bullets. Both of the digital weapons destroyed the other, expiring in brightly explosive pixels, blurred afterimages of the exchange the only thing that still glowed behind the humans’ eyelids.

Axton wished he could hold his breath… the operative had a huge advantage in the dark, and he couldn’t hear anything over his own wheezing. He had his gun in hand, but it wasn’t going to do much good if Flynt could use his tech against him. He counted down in his head and tried triggering the turret again, but the mechanism only clicked dully. _Shit… And was that a groan?_ Had to be a ruse, he didn’t hit the operative _that_ hard. Mentally crossing his fingers, he tossed out the missus once more, and this time, she whirred to life, immediately finding her target and highlighting him with a spotlight. Axton stumbled over, and held his gun to the back of the operative’s head. “Stay down, Flynt.”

Zane froze, one hand raised partway to his temple to wipe off the blood oozing down his face. He’d smacked his thick skull on a rock when the commando decked him…it hadn’t knocked him out, and it wasn’t deep, but it hurt like hell and like most head injuries, bled a ridiculous amount. Instead, he lifted both his hands in a gesture of surrender, keeping them away from his body if only to keep from being shot in the head for scratching his nose. “Eeeeasy, boyo.” Axton dug the pistol harder into the back of his head to make a point…and he couldn’t blame the kid. He knew _exactly_ what he’d just done, so he figured he deserved whatever the former Dahl militant decided to do to him.

Just because all the fury he tried so hard to keep tamped down got the better of him lately, it didn’t mean he could just turn it on and off at will. O _kay,_ fine _!_ Maybe if he was being brutally honest, it was ridiculously easy to slip that Flynt madness on, because it fit him like a fine suit. But that made it even harder to push it back into the dark recesses where it should just stay put and feck off with its evil self. Unfortunately, the more he indulged in that darkness, the more he could also remember the destruction he caused while in its clutches.

“I’m supposing we’ve gone pretty far past ‘sorry’ for me tryin’ to kill ya…so I can’t say anyone would blame ya fer a spur-of-th’-moment execution. Just be sure to put two in me noggin so it’s a sure thing this time. I think I’d rather not come back from that shite again, if it’s all the same to you.” He heard and felt other vault hunter take an uncertain step back, but still kept his hands where Axton could see them.

“Is that why you attacked me? So I’d just kill you and be done with it?”

“No… it’s not. I’m just… fecked in the head.” He exhaled a dark chuckled and started to lower his hands, but heard the hum of the pistol charging as soon as he moved, so up they went as quickly as he could get his arms back in the air. “I know, I know!” He took a long, slow breath. “If it’ll make ya feel better, take me jacket so ya know I’m not hiding any other guns. Pistol and clone triggers are in me hip holster.”

“And the hand?”

“Jaysus, man! I’m not some feckin’ secret agent from a spy thriller. You expect me to have poison darts shoved in me fingertips or somethin’?” Only half kidding… it was a tempting thought, but he wasn’t doing those kinds of jobs anymore. _Really_. “Take the feckin’ weapons and just back away.” He really didn’t want to further antagonize his fellow hunter, but his temper and that dark madness was still just bubbling barely below the surface. It was nothing short of a struggle not to give in again, taunt Axton until he was shaking in his boots, press every button until he snapped and things got deadly. Zane shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to try to regain some sense of control and shove away those kinds of thoughts.

But at his sudden sharp exhale, Axton was on him, shoving and pinning him to the ground, the heat of the gun barrel pressed into his spine. “I don’t want to shoot you, Zane, but if you make me, I absolutely will.”

“I believe you.” He kept his eyes closed, trying to just breathe slowly…in and out… counting each one until Axton had stripped off his jacket and taken his guns. He wished he’d paid more attention when Amara had tried to get him to meditate, but he did remember that much. It was a good thing, too, because right now, he wasn’t calm, he wasn’t collected, and he was going to whip around and backhand a certain Dahl soldier if the boy manhandled him one more _fucking ti_ …

_Breeeeeeeeaaaaaathe…just breathe, Zaneboy. You brought this one on yourself. And for what? Trying to help you? Trying to reach through yer thickheadedness….and scramble…yer brains even more than they already are…and why the FUCK would he want to help… stop it, stop it, stop it, STOP IT._

He groaned and sat up slowly once the commando had backed off, careful not to make any sudden movements. “Fer what it’s worth, I’m trying, but me own brain hates me and I can’t shut it off.” His half-hearted apology was punctuated by the whir of the turret refocusing on him as he sat and leaned back against the sloping cold stone wall.

“Sure, sure. But if it’s all the same, I think I’ll hang on to my own gun for the moment.” Axton’s voice was raw and grating, and Zane actually did feel bad that he’d demolished yet another friendship. _And in record time, too! Way to go, ya arse._

“This really wasn’t how I wanted this to go, Zane. Your entire team is worried about you, Amara most of all. I just wanted to help a friend, that’s it.” He pulled out a flask from his pack without looking and took a hit from it, capped it one-handed, and tossed it to the operative.

“What, you think I was _plannin’_ to kill ya or something?” Another shake of his head, then he caught the flask with a blink, staring at the polished and engraved metal. Axton didn’t know…or had forgotten in the moment.

_Don’t do it…you nearly died from this. Shut up, I nearly died from a lot of shite that is far worse. One taste. No, hand it back to him and say ‘nah, I’m good.’ One sip just to ease yer head. Erase the memories. Forget the pain. Forget the suffering. Drown the voices. Drown the madness. Drown the feelings… just drown._

He opened the flask and took a long swig, wincing at the delicious burn as it scorched down his throat and settled warm in his belly. He didn’t pass it back, settling into a more comfortable position, as if it was possible in a cave at night while blinded by the torch of an angry turret aimed in his direction. It was a fair exchange; discomfort for the misery he’d caused. Again.

“You don’t deserve this shite… none of ya do. They should have just let me die out there… I was ready then, ya know? Made my peace with it, and it was on _my_ terms.” He thumped his chest with his hand. “ _Mine_. You know how rare that is in our profession?”

“So, better to make me shoot you, then? Suicide via forced self-defense.”

“It wasn’t th’ original intent.” He took a long swallow this time, letting the heat relax the tension, take the edge off his anger…even if it tended to loosen his tongue a bit in the process. This time, he handed it back. “I’ve had this mess in me head since I was a kid, mostly from me brothers. Everythin’ after just made it worse.”

“I… knew your brother…briefly.” Axton winced as soon as it was out of his mouth, not intending to bring it up…ever.

“Yeah, yeah… you and Maya and Zer0 and Sally. He was an arse and deserved every bullet you filled him with.”

“ _Sally_?”

“Long story.”

“I bet it involves alcohol.” Passing back the flask, Axton only semi-reluctantly put his gun away. He still had his lady if things got violent again.

“When doesn’t it?” Zane drained the rest… the problem with flasks was that they just didn’t hold enough. “So… truth time, boyo. Why did ya really drag me out here, ‘cause it sure as hell wasn’t to bond.”

“Because I ruined my own marriage with my bullshit, and I wasn’t half as fucked up as you are.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. And yer full of crap. I’m not married.”

“Anymore.”

“Touché.”

“The point is…Amara is worried. Zer0 is worried. Moxxi is worried. When you get the entire cross-generation of vault hunters in a tizzy, it’s time for an intervention.”

“I don’t want an intervention.”

“Tough shit.”

“I don’t _need_ …” He trailed off.

“See?”

“Feck off.”

“Maybe next time if you buy me dinner first.”

Zane sighed. “Look, me boyo, I appreciate it at a certain level, but mostly, it just pisses me off that everyone's up in me business thinkin' they know what's best. So, no offense, but I’m tryin’ _really_ hard to come up with reasons not to kill ya." Axton's hand went back to the grip of his pistol at that, but Zane raised his hands in open-palmed supplication. "I haven’t actually given in to it, or I’d be steppin’ over your body on me way to get a pint, and you know it. So what say we skip over the unpleasantries, both of us leave the swamp in our rearviews, and just go right to the drinkin’?”

“So you can end the night with a bar fight and kill someone else instead? I don’t think so.”

“Yer no fun.”

“You’re right. Go to sleep, old man. Tomorrow we’re meeting up with Hammerlock to go hunting.”

“What makes you think I won’t just shank you in yer sleep?”

Axton smirked and gestured to the turret. “Have you met the Missus?”

Sighing softly and conceding defeat in this round, the operative crawled back over to his own bedroll, not expecting to sleep, as usual, especially with his exhausted mind dredging up every possible memory and shoving it to the forefront.

________

Axton rubbed his eyes, feeling like he’d slept far too late, bright sunlight glaring directly into the cavern from the sunrise…before he realized something felt very wrong. He snapped fully awake, fingers reaching for his gun…which was...not in his holster...then to his trusty lady friend… but she was silent also, barrel drooping as if she’d fallen asleep on the job. In a way, she had, wires expertly clipped to keep from shooting but not to make her deactivate completely. He had to grudgingly admire the handiwork...deactivation would have been just as noisy; as the turret collapsed in on itself, it would have woken him up immediately.

The commando growled, heaving himself to his feet and paced the small space, hoping maybe...just maybe... the operative had only gone out to take a leak. Zane’s jacket was laying haphazardly tossed across his bedroll, but his gun and portable digistructor were not where Axton had stashed them the night before. Curious, he dug into his pocket and found that his eridium marble was also gone, heart breaking just a bit at the missing memento, but at the same time, not really surprised at its absence.

He should have known… should have stayed somewhere with more people around…or just planned to stay with Alistair and Wainwright. But no… had to get cocky about it and be the hero, thinking _he_ of all people could empathize enough to talk some sense into that kind of crazy.

He packed up the rest of their gear and headed to the nearest town, but no one he questioned had seen the operative. Hating to raise suspicions so early, but with options quickly running out, he called Hammerlock, hoping against hope that he’d shown up on their doorstep instead. He spent the rest of the morning hunting, tracking, looking for clues...but in the end, he just wished the former corporate assassin had shot him in his sleep, because now he had to explain to Amara _and_ Moxxi that he'd lost Zane.

 _Shit_.


	14. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Axton slinks back to Sanctuary, tail between his legs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but not very sweet, because story still has to happen after the fallout.

When Axton had pinged her ECHO and said they were coming home early, Moxxi knew things had gone wrong… and not just because he had messaged her and not Amara. Trying not to alarm any of them, she gathered the team together to wait for their arrival, hoping there was no ‘just in case’ scenario to actually worry about. Unfortunately, Amara was already making finger-shaped indentations in the railing as they waited.

The blonde commando stepped on deck first, pack slung over his shoulder, looking completely dejected as he held Zane’s unmistakable yellow-trimmed jacket in one hand. Amara started to cross the deck to greet him, still expecting the operative to be following along behind and wielding some pissed-off expression like it was he who was the victim. Instead, it was Hammerlock who followed behind, his own heavy brows furrowed together in a deep frown.

“No… please no…” Amara’s knees felt like jelly and she crumpled onto the sofa, staring at the pair. “Why…what…happened?”

Axton dropped his pack with a heavy thunk and carefully laid the jacket on the back of the run-down couch. “I dunno. We talked.” _He tried to kill me_. “I was stupid enough to think I could get through…but he’s just gone.” His throat still hurt and he could practically imagine his vocal chords being dragged over gravel when he spoke.

“How is he ‘gone’?! After all we went through...which of you assholes killed him??” Anger was starting to bubble up in place of the shock…anger was easier to accept, and blame was so much easier to throw around rather thna accept that the operative was “gone.” Rising to her feet, sparks started to crawl along her arm, amplifying with her growing despair.

“What? Nonono!! He _left_ …. snuck out sometime during the night. Hammy’s been helping me look for him.”

Moxxi set her hand on her hip with an irritated thrust and a scowl that in no way marred her features. “Missing? And that’s better…how? You let him just walk away?” If anything, her posture still looked far more seductive than threatening, although she was just getting warmed up.

“Not so, Madame! He slipped away...which we should have anticipated, considering his profession and ability.” The hunter stood straighter with his proclamation of sharing the blame, although he did shoot the ex-soldier an exasperated expression at the ‘Hammy’ nickname. “We believe he slipped off-planet…but unfortunately have not yet determined for certain where he has gone.”

A more logical anger started seeping in over Amara’s initial panic, although a hollow feeling remained, like someone had kicked her in the chest. She turned on her friend, punctuating each furiously disbelieving word with another threatening step toward him. “ _You_. _Lost._ _Zane._ ”

“Not intentionally!” Raising his hands in a defensive gesture, Axton took a step back for each one Amara took forward, but now Moze and FL4K were descending on him as well, all of them looking angry…and irrationally, it was impressive to him that the AI could look that angry. Maybe it was just his own guilt that was making him imagine more expression? No… there was a definite narrowing of that glowing eye.

Moxxi tried to step in between the angry vault hunters and Axton, but Amara was faster, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him down to her level with a force that nearly pulled him entirely off his feet.

“Amara, wait.” The bar owner managed to interject. “Let’s hear everything before you toss him out the airlock.”

“Yeah, let me expla… wait… _what_?”

The siren opened her lips to snarl another accusation in his face, but pulled up short as she caught sight of the healing bruises around Axton’s throat. She let go of his jacket, but not-so-gently pushed his chin to one side, then the other, anger disappearing into worry. “Axton? What happened?”

“Nothing.”

He sighed when she just gave him one of those disappointed looks in reply, and out of the corner of his eye, he noted he was also getting the ‘mom’ look from Moxxi. “Fiiiiine. We had a disagreement. But I thought we were good after we talked. Come on, you know he doesn’t drink with people he hates.” _Hates, no._ _Planning to kill...yes....I'm in so much trouble._

“That was from a disagreement?” Blink. “Wait….did you say ‘ _drink’_?”

“Yeah. We shared a flask after he stopped trying to strangle me. I thought we were making progress.”

Moze crossed her arms, making a disgusted face. “Dude… skip the deets of your weird kinks.”

“Ugh! No! It’s not like th...” The end of his sentence was cut off by the fist of fury that exploded his nose into a bloody spray. When his eyes stopped watering enough to see from his new position on the floor, Amara was towering over him, both hands balled into fists, glaring. At least she wasn’t sparking, but she had a purple glow emanating directly from her skin that was somehow even more terrifying. Moze attempted to hide a smirk behind her fingers, pretending she was tapping her lips as if in deep thought, while Moxxi pulled a hankie from somewhere in her bodice and held it out to him, gracing him with entirely unsympathetic, ‘you asked for that one, kid’ expression.

“You let him _drink_?!”

“Whaddaya mean, _let_ ‘im? We _alwaysh_ drink!” His voice was nasally and much higher than he was comfortable with, but considering the sheer volume of blood running down the back of his throat and the pain he was in, it was the best he could do. He wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t broken his nose…and it wouldn’t be the first time that he’d had it broken…by her.

“He’s been sober since he came home!”

 _Well,_ there’s _your problem._ “I’m shorry! No’ne tol’ me!”

“ _I_ told you! When I asked you to come talk to him!”

_Oops._

“Come on, dear boy.” Alistair clapped him on the shoulder with his robotic hand, offering his other to help him to his feet. “Let’s all go share a drink now…as a peace offering… and see if we can’t determine where our intrepid assassin friend has gone, shall we?” Turning to lead the march toward Moxxxi’s, he nearly ran into Lilith who stood in their path, arms crossed.

“Hey. How about we go keep the vault from opening first like Typhon asked us to? Got people planetside hoping not to die.” The vault hunters scowled as one, but this time she was right. Their priority was getting back to Pandora to stop a planet-wide extermination. Their teammate was going to have to wait yet again.

_____

That night, Amara was awakened by a short, anonymous ping to her ECHO. Blearily, she glanced at the “UNKNOWN” identifier flashing on her screen, and almost ignored it. But something about the timing bothered her, so she tiredly flipped it on.

<< _Safe._ >>

She blinked and sat bolt upright, very much awake.

<< _Sorry. :’(_ >>

She needed more. An explanation, another word, a full sentence, for gods sake! She frantically punched buttons, trying to reply to what the ECHO was telling her was a non-existent number. She shook the machine, like she could force it to send texts by sheer willpower. It wasn’t until the case groaned beneath her thumb, cracking a spidery line across the bright plastic exterior, that she realized she wasn’t going to get anywhere by destroying the one communication tool she had.

Sighing defeatedly, she started to toss it back on the table, but it pinged once more.

<< _< 3_ >>

She set it aside, reverently this time, and slowly rose to her feet, walking with singular focus across the hall to his room.

Laying down in his bunk, she curled up and hugged his pillow close, breathing in the lingering scent of him…light, barely-there mixtures of sweat and musk, leather and oil, whiskey and that fancy citrusy shampoo he liked so much. She cried herself back to sleep, clutching the pillow like it was all she might ever have of him any time soon...if ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I snuck in one of my favorite quotes, "Well, *there's* your problem!" from Mythbusters, always thrown about when something goes horribly wrong as they're sifting through the wreckage to find the issue. I use it far too often in real life.


	15. Walk Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Monsters are real. They live inside me. And sometimes… they win.” – Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of hitting almost exactly 40K words, because I've never written anything this long!

Zane barely remembered sending the texts. He definitely didn’t remember how he got the new shiner, but from the swollen and bloodied knuckles and intact rows of teeth, he seemed to have won the round, whatever it was. At least old habits hadn’t died, and he’d secured both his transmissions and the door before he’d passed out. Running a stream of muddy water into the sink until it was only partially discolored, he splashed it on his face then rinsed the dried blood from his hair and drool from his beard. His head had taken up playing the cymbals sometime mid-afternoon before he finally dragged himself off the ragged sofa, and the Pandoran heat already had his shirt clinging wetly to his skin. This was about as miserable as it got…and he deserved every second of it.

He ran a hand over the cracked mirror… this one he _didn’t_ break. This particular mirror was Captain’s work, although he vaguely recalled that it might have been broken when he was ducking his brother’s not-well-aimed punch. Part of him had no idea why the feck he’d ever come back to this place, but really, it was the most logical hideout. No one would ever think to look for him here, because he’d sworn up, down, sideways, and backwards that he was never coming back here. EVER.

The old homestead hadn’t changed a lot, except it was even more run-down and dirty than it had been growing up. Or maybe it had always been this bad, but distant memory had glossed over the worst bits. The funny thing was that it had been unoccupied when he arrived and broke open the door. No gang members had moved in, no distant relatives searching for some non-existent treasure buried in the back sandlot. The place was haunted by its own past, reputation and ugly memories flickering around every corner and in every closet and doorway.

Shuffling into the kitchen to look for any bottles that were still semi-full, he winced at the light coming in through the broken shutters, hissing through his teeth in a vampiric imitation…at this point, he wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t burst into flame regardless.

He’d made his stash disappear in record time…not even enough for a hair of the dog left… so it looked like he was going out again tonight. Or as soon as he could find a clean shirt and a hair tie, which actually proved to be harder than expected.

In the process, he found his ECHO again, glancing over the bounced requests… or at least what appeared to the senders as bounce-backs. He still got the messages. Scowling at the six attempts Amara had made to send, the last one merely a lot of frustrated and angrily mangled key punches and randomly keyed nonsense. He felt a pang of guilt, but shoved it harshly aside. The team was better off without him right now. She was definitely better off not dealing with his insanity. Hell, _he_ didn’t want to deal with it, either, so why foist that misery off on someone else?

 _This is still the worst place you could have picked to escape, you know_. Was his conscience still grousing at him? _Shut up. I don’t care._ The problem was, he did still care…but a twisted part of him also needed it. He had to know if he was still good ol' Zane or if he’d become more Flynt. If he was going to find out sooner rather than later, this was the place for it.

Taking a whiff of a shirt that was tossed over the back of the bedframe, he slipped it on, catching a glance of himself in another cracked mirror as he passed, and after a moment’s hesitation, he flipped the catch on his eyepatch and tossed it in the duffle with the rest of his gear. If he was going to be Flynt, he was going to look the part. He was still the most handsome devil to come out of the family line, but the devil part was the preference tonight, his silver hair falling past his shoulders and scarred eye blatantly visible. With the addition of the tattoos snaking down his arm and up his throat, he could have even been mistaken for a bandit king. He smirked, knowing exactly what Vaughn would think of that pretense _… “Bloooooood feuuuuuud!”_

Gritting his teeth against the still-growing headache and smacking his dry lips, he strapped his pistol to his thigh, a knife at his back, and another in his boot. Just plain ol’ working man clothes…no tight leathers, no jacket, no LED décor. The spider was hidden by his hair, but there were still many things that would give him away if anyone looked closely enough: the digi-clone receiver, the quality of his Jakobs and his shield, and the high-tech of his left hand, none of which he was hungover or drunk enough…or stupid enough…to leave behind.

His initial plan had been to just lay low, monitor the ECHOnet for signs of Tyreen or CoV movement, and otherwise stay as drunk as possible for as long as possible. He’d already failed the first part, though he was pretty sure it had been a three-day bender that finally forced him home to crash. He wasn’t out of money by a long shot, but he was out of booze, and that was a problem, because that meant he’d start thinking about every bad thing stuffed in his head again.

He wouldn’t have even bothered with keeping the ECHO nearby, except he was determined that Tyreen was going to pay for all the shite she did, and not just to him. _See…now yer not lookin’ out for number one_. He wasn’t sure he cared about that part, either, as long as she ended up dying slowly and painfully by his hands.

Although, that was if the quakes didn’t get them first. They were getting worse, and the moon was getting bigger in the sky…close enough that their impending doom was impossible to ignore. If the team was travelling home via Sanctuary III, they’d be another week, even at FTL speeds. _Yer still keepin’ tabs on ‘em. Let it go, ya bloody wanker._ Except he couldn’t bring himself to break _all_ ties, even if they believed he’d done otherwise. Not yet, anyway. Not till he knew who he had become.

Rolling his shoulders, he stepped out into the godforsaken heat of the wastes.

____________

The bar was not what anyone in their right mind would consider clean or quiet, and that was just fine with the operative. It meant no one gave him more than a second look when he’d taken a seat at the far end, and he’d only had to fend off a couple of propositions so far. So far. There was a lass who had been trying to catch his eye for the last half hour, and a fella three seats down who was caught between working up the nerve to ask if he could buy the old man a drink or wondering if he should just buy it and send it over with compliments in case a direct proposition caught him a bullet. There was always someone who was attracted to the most dangerous man in the room…and it helped that he was also the best looking, even as much as he’d let himself go. If anything, the sinister look and scars just helped that first crazed-bandit-lord-so-don’t-feck-with-me impression.

Zane smirked into his whiskey glass and downed it, gesturing to the tender for another. Yes, he was edging way past well-oiled, but unlike a lot of the other patrons, he was quiet, wasn’t causing trouble or breaking anything, and above all else, had the credits pay his tab.

As he lifted his newly filled glass, his foggy attention was drawn to an increasingly loud conversation a couple of tables away. Four bandits were playing poker, badly, and he’d considered joining them a few times during the evening just to liberate them from their coin and humiliate them in the process...because it was fun and it would be a good distraction. It might even end in a brawl, but he wasn’t entirely sure he needed the bloodshed tonight, more content to slowly let his brains and liver turn to blurry mush until someone purposefully tripped a kill switch.

“Fuckin’ Flynts, man! I’m tellin’ ya someone’s out there at their old place.”

“Ain’t possible. They’s all dead.”

Turning his head so he could watch the bandits out of the corner of his eye, he tuned in more, ignoring the nervous fella trying to get the tender’s attention now that he’d gotten up the courage to spend his hard-stolen coin on the white-haired stranger.

“How d’you know?”

“Ever’one knows Cap’n died. Baron, too. Vault hunters got ‘em both. Crews spread out all over the wastes lookin’ for new gangs. Ones ‘at didn’t get kilt in the crossfire, anyways.”

“Whatever.”

“Wasn’t there another? Th’ skinny runt…what wuz's name?”

Zane snarled into the glass, tipping it back and draining the double in one gulp.

“I dunno…somethin’ stupid. Didn’ Cap’n kill him early on? Like th’ other li’l uns?”

_Doooon’t react. They’re a buncha drunk feckers._

“I dunno. Before my time.”

“Nah, see, I heard th’ lil one went psycho, killed th’ whole lot himself and is livin' off in the deep wastes.”

"What? Like some murder hermit? Don' be stupid." 

_Yeah… buncha drunks…just…like…you._

“Wadn’t he the one got himself that bounty?”

“No’ne’s gonna pay that much for a bounty. It’s a…whatsit…a furry tail.”

“Fairy tale, idiot.”

"Fuck you. Hezza one on that ECHO vid from th crazies."

"That shit was fake. Fuckin' ratings bullshit."

He breathed in through his nose and out through gritted teeth, trying not to crush the glass, although he thought it might have started cracking under the pressure. _No, that's just you._

“But....anyways, no one was meaner’n Cap’n and Baron.”

“How the hell would you know?”

“I was in Cap’n’s crew.” That one sounded proud of himself, and embellished even more now that he had their undivided attention at the announcement. “I’s there when he kilt th’ scrawny punk. Too bad, too. Coulda made a name by killin’ myself the _useless_ Flynt.”

“Izzat so?” Zane hefted himself up from the barstool and stood wobbling for a moment before finding some semblance of balance. Either he’d become a lightweight since he’d stupidly sobered up or he’d had way more tonight than he thought. It didn’t blur the edges of his anger, though, only his speech...and a little of his vision. His anger was constant and sharp as a knife blade. “Then why nae try now?” Holding his arms out in a come-and-get-me invitation.

“Fuck off, geezer.”

Zane launched the glass at the bandit's smart mouth, where it shattered against his chin, filling his mouth with broken shards of glass and teeth. He went to his knees, screaming, hand covering the bloody mess. The operative didn't give him another look as the bar went silent, all eyes in his direction.

“Oi… ya said ya wanted ta kill yerself a Flynt. Well, th’ last of ‘em’s right here.” He bowed with a wobbly flourish, never taking his gaze off the quartet-sans-one. “Zane _Flynt_ , at yer service!”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah?” Voice mocking. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, boyo… do ya see this here eye?” Pointing a long finger at the white orb, lips curling up in a wicked grin. “Me dearest brudder, Cap- _tain_ …”Accentuating both syllables of his older brother’s name, he continued, “…burned me eye out when I was a lad.” The bandits exchanged glances as the lanky assassin waltzed toward them, suddenly not looking as drunk as he had a moment ago. Of course, he still was, but he wasn't blind drunk yet, and anger fueled his actions.

“Thish scar here…” Pointing at a thin line, mostly hidden by his sideburns and stubble, just below his ear and running down the length of his jaw. “….was from Baron when a lass he liked tol’ him she thought I wuz ‘cute.’ I wuz _eight_ at th’ time, thankyaverymuch.”

One more step and he was at their table…none of the other patrons had fled, but watched him stalk forward without making a move to intervene. “I survived me Pa, me brothers, and me cousins…the corporate wars, assassination attempts…AND the fecking Calypso twins!” Hands flashed out faster than the tipsy Pandorans could follow, grabbing another of the bandits by the back of the hair and bouncing his head off the poker table, chips and cards scattering with the force of it, sending his buddies skittering back from their chairs and their hands hovering at their holsters. None of them were quite confident enough to draw, and one was trying to hide behind a slatted chair, as if it could offer any protection at all from the killer’s vitriol.

His voice rose louder as he stopped speaking to just the few nearby patrons, making his next proclamation to the entire bar, advancing toward the center of the room, kicking over a chair in his way. “I am Zane Ferocity _fucking_ FLYNT! I am th’ _Deathbringer!_ ”

Grinning wildly at the now-trembling bandits, canines flashing with an expression that the few living witnesses later would swear was evil incarnate.

“You wanna make a name fer yerself so bad? Then come an’ fuckin’ _get_ me, ya bastards!”

As the silence exploded into gunfire, muzzle flashes, screams, and blood, he knew in that moment EXACTLY who he was.


	16. Finders Keepers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Former vault hunters track down the operative. Again. Or...things get better before they get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Added another couple of paragraphs to the end. It flowed better as a cliffhanger with this chapter. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!!

There wasn’t much to see this far out in the Pandoran wastes, and Axton wiped the sweat out of his eyes before taking a long drink of warm, brackish water from his canteen.

“ _Now_ I remember why I said I wasn’t coming back here after we killed Jack. This place is a fucking miserable hellhole.”

“Hey! Some of us live in this miserable hellhole.” Brick pretended to sound irritated, but as usual, only sounded loudly excited, bare muscled arms crossing as they waited for the rest of the B-Team to check in.

“Then…I’m sorry you decided to choose to live in this particular hellhole?” The former bandit king snorted out a laugh at Axton, slapping the commando on the back in a good-natured gesture that left the smaller man gasping for breath and yet glad he wasn’t going to have to explain a handprint-shaped bruise across his spine to anyone else.

“Stop flirting with the commando, _mi amor_.” Mordecai’s voice crackled over the connection. “I see the villa, but no sign of anyone around. Might be the locals sent us on a wild rakk chase.”

“Nah… even Vaughn’s crew said there’s been a silver-haired madman wiping out camps in the area.”

“Civilians?” Brick sounded like he was going to be legitimately angry if the answer was positive.

Finally able to get a decent intake of air, Axton shook his head. “CoV, from the reports. But it’s all secondhand.” Raising his own binoculars, he scanned the horizon before focusing back on the distant house. “Rumors are all over the place. Wiped out a caravan. Has some massive weapons stockpile...that one I totally believe. Has a covert army ready to take over Pandora. Brings food and guns to the local townsfolk, then murders them in their sleep. The only constant is that people change the subject as quickly as possible.”

“What do _you_ think?” Brick gave him a long look, like he wasn’t sure himself.

“I think he’s pissed off and on a bender.”

“Vaulty-Vault is cray-cray!” Tina broke into the discussion, but there was a somber note in her voice. “But he has… _had_ …HAS a super gigantasaurus heart. He saved Enrique IV! _And_ he helped us take our place back from the ban-di-tos! Aaaaaaaaaand he went to your girly-girl’s cake bash and was super awesomely a-MA-zing!”

“That was _before_ , Tina.” The sniper’s mumbled, morose tone said everything, cracking slightly at the end.

“No! He’s just…lost, that’s _all!_ ”

“Tina…”

“Not listening! Lalalalalalala…”

“Tina!”

Axton sighed, tucking the binoculars into his pack. “Well, we won’t know till we take a closer look.”

“You sure about this, slab?”

“No…not really.”

He was only out here now because Amara had come to him after cooling off, bearing ice packs, beer, and a chagrined but sincere apology for flying off the handle. It really wasn’t like her to be that angry, and if it had been anyone else, Axton would have told her where she could stick her apology.

As they drank, she talked, lamenting that the whole team had been short-tempered… even with each other…and that the operative’s downward spiral on top of fighting the twins had taken a toll on all of them. Along with the tanked morale already plaguing Sanctuary and the fear of what was going to happen if the Destroyer woke up, the overall mood of the team had bottomed out long before Axton took the brunt of their frustration. Good news was in ridiculously short supply, and the siren who was leading them wasn’t giving them much in the way of encouragement or hope.

So Axton had agreed to search the wastes while their team was in transit together. Pandora was too big for just one man and his lady, though, so he’d enlisted help. Ellie had started scanning the Catch-a-Ride system for anonymous activations or unusual glitches. Gauge had been hacking Hyperion’s FT system, looking for any odd travel…or blanks in the records…starting from their last location on Eden-6. Hammerlock was doing ground recon with the natives. Once their combined efforts had tracked the hitman to Fyrestone, the trail had gone cold, so he contacted the local team, backtracking to Boomtown.

Sanctuary was due in orbit sometime tomorrow evening, and Axton was determined that the band would be back together in time to end the nightmare that was shaking the planet apart. Elpis was way too big in the sky, lighting the night like it was midday, so there wasn’t going to be any sneaking in if the operative was actually home. The way the house was situated, it would be hard to go covert, but it didn’t look like anyone was actually keeping watch. No guards were posted outside...which was better than the rumor that Flynt had started up his own personal bandit clan...but there would definitely be booby-traps.

As they approached, what they had originally seen as piles of debris at the front gate resolved into… _offerings_. Axton knelt down by the lit candles, peering at the odds and ends that had been left in tribute. Scraps of notes that held some desperate Pandorans’ prayers, bottles of ale and whiskey, carefully wrapped sticks of roasted rakk and jerked skag, whiskey, vials of spiderant venom, drying flowers, baubles, whiskey, coins, kids’ broken toys, whiskey…so much whiskey…a discerning alcoholic’s dream come true. Along the posts and broken fence slats were spray-painted signs and graffiti, simple images of the operative, rough renderings of spiders, random triangles, a single glowing eye, and scrawled and misspelled variations of the ominous phrases, ‘ _Death Walks’_ and ‘ _Pray for Death.’_

Mordecai had joined them at the gate, rifle unslung, peering up at the front of the house with a frown. His partner gripped his shoulder with surprising gentleness.

“You know you don’t have to come with, Mordy.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for forgiveness. I shot him.”

“He wanted you to. We talked about this, bae.”

While the couple was rehashing, Axton marched straight up the path to the front door, pounding his fist on the wood hard enough that it shook in the frame. “Flynt! Open up!” Spinning out of the way as instinct kicked in, he huddled by the wall as a seemingly unending rattle of assault rifle slugs splintered holes through the wooden surface. “Shit!”

“Probably not the best intro, slab.” Brick pressed against the wall next to him while Mordecai vanished somewhere around the side of the property.

Axton grinned, drawing his gun and obsessively checking the clip even though he knew it was fully loaded. “Got his attention, didn’t it?”

“This wasn’t the plan, _pendejo!_ ”

“We had a plan?”

Their answer was another volley of bullets that had the former vault hunters ducking away from the flying splinters. Axton grinned again, glancing up to the big man next to him. “Ready?” He counted down silently with his fingers from five…when he reached ‘one,’ he gestured to the door and Brick charged around him, busting through the fractured remains just as the digiclone inside disintegrated into a burst of blue pixels. No one else was visible, much to the bandit king’s disappointment, just the whiff of lingering electric ozone over old sweat, blood, and alcohol. Much like the operative’s room on Sanctuary, the place was neatly messy…including the excess of empty bottles scattered around like intentional decoration.

Doing a quick sweep of the rest of the house, the commando noted scattered gear, more empty bottles than anyone should be able to drink in one lifetime and survive, but no operative. He put his gun away and returned to the front room, but was stopped in the hall by the barrel of a shotgun at eye level. It was a good choice of weapon…even with the lack of eye patch and with a distinctly unsteady hand, at this range there was no chance of missing.

“Zane.” Axton raised his hands slowly to show he didn’t have a gun or his turret control, weapons all safely holstered…for now.

“Axton.”

“Where’s Brick?”

The operative drunkenly gestured with his other hand, which clutched a mostly empty whiskey bottle. The liquid sloshed up the sides, and he brought it to his lips, but didn’t take his eyes off the commando. Axton followed the gesture to find the big man unconscious and slumped across the arm of the ragged sofa. He had to admit, he was impressed that the assassin could take down someone that size without a sound…even as plastered as he seemed to be, if the waver of the hand holding the shotgun in a one-handed draw was any indication.

He still wasn’t about to try to overpower the man…he’d only end up with a face full of buckshot and whatever other poison the operative had loaded in his shells. Plus, he’d seen Zane in action more than once, constantly in motion, the ultimate run-and-gun showman, and his reloads were inhumanly fast from a lifetime of practice. He doubted that being drunk affected him enough to get the drop on him…and honestly, he wasn’t sure anymore that he could take Zane even in a sober one-on-one fight…which is why he’d brought the B-team along. Except now, half of the accompanying team was obliviously drooling on his own shirt.

“Drop it, _ése_.” Mordecai came in from behind the operative… _there_ was the other half, and he was pissed. When Zane didn’t move, the sniper fired a round which splintered the doorframe next to his head, and loudly reset the bolt, the empty shell hitting the wooden floor with an unmistakable metallic ‘clink.’ Zane blinked slowly, tilting his head to the side like he was thinking about his odds…then gave Axton an unfriendly smile, raising both his hands outward. He didn’t drop either potential weapon, metal fingers wrapped firmly around the neck of the bottle, the shotgun dangling from the trigger guard by his index finger.

Axton stepped forward with a quick stride and grabbed the gun before Zane could change his mind and spin it back around on them…then stepped out of arm’s reach in case the operative decided to break the bottle over his head out of spite. Then again, he'd probably consider it a waste of good alcohol.

“Com’on, Mordy… _buddy_ … join me fer a drink.” Zane shook the bottle before taking another swig.

“Fuck you, _capullo_.”

“Havin’ second thoughts about nae shootin’ me in th’ head when ya had th’ chance?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And?”

“And…” Axton yanked the bottle from his grasp and took it out the front door, making a show of dumping it out in the dirt. “Your team is coming back tomorrow.”

Zane turned, scowling at them both. “So?”

Mordecai hadn’t lowered his rifle yet, but had moved in closer so he could nudge Brick gently with his knee. “What’d you do to him?”

“Nothin’ he won’t wake up cursin’ from in ‘bout five…ten minutes or so.”

“He better, _pendejo_ , or I _will_ end you.”

“Promises, promises.” He stumbled over to the couch and plunked down next to Brick, giving him a pat on the cheek. “He’ll be fine. Woncha, big guy?” Brick groaned, turning and grabbing the operative and cuddling up to him as if he was Mordecai…which meant that now the former bandit king was drooling on Zane instead.

“What th’ feck?” One arm was still free, so he tried to shove away, but struggling only meant that Brick held him tighter.

The big man cracked an eye open by the barest slit, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘love yoooooooou,” and smooched him on the cheek, before muttering about _someone_ needing a shave.

“Well…shite.”

Mordecai finally smirked, shouldering the rifle. “Yeah, he’s gonna be fine. Good luck getting up, though. He does that every morning. I can’t get away from him, either.”

“Ugh… I know I’m a good lookin’ fook, but really? And what th’ hell are ya doin’ in me house, anyway?”

“Making sure you’re still alive out here.” Axton took a seat across from him, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

“I grew up here. What th’ feck do ya think is gonna happen?”

“Mentally or physically?”

The operative sneered, unimpressed and needing a drink. Unfortunately, nothing was in reach, so he just glared at Axton instead.

“Look...I know I screwed up before." Axton sighed and ran a hand through his short locks. "I know, I know...none of us has lived through what you did…but we all have our own hells. Mordy drowned his in a bottle, Brick went nuts and started a bandit clan, and mine ended in divorce and more than a few years of running away. So we do get it. We really do. So _please_ …unlike the rest of us screw-ups, let your _friends_ make our hamfisted attempts to keep you from killing yourself by a thousand paper cuts, okay?”

“Says th’ gang who broke into me family home pointin’ guns.”

“ _You_ shot first.”

“True.” Zane would have crossed his arms, but Brick still had him in a death grip, so he just scowled. “I’m nae goin’ back ta Sanctuary.”

“That's fine…but…” Axton glanced around at the room. “...is it healthy being _here_?”

“Why else do ya think I’ve been drinkin’?” More than usual.

“Then come stay with us.” Mordecai offered, which drew Zane’s attention immediately.

“What? _Why_?”

“Call it… an apology for nearly killing you.“

“I….” Wanted that death. Needed that. Practically _begged_ for that.

“Come on, _amigo_ … Tina wants you there. Brick wants you there. Your team wants you safe…and so do I.”

He pointed a finger at the sniper. “I’m nae yer prisoner. I come and go when I want.”

Axton immediately nodded. “That was never the intent, Zane. You know us… you know me. We wouldn’t do that to you.”

Narrowing his eyes, the operative finally gave a curt nod.

“Oh… one thing, though.” The blonde soldier stood up. “Do you still have my marble? It’s...kinda sentimental.”

“Aye.“ Zane eyed him for a moment, tongue running over dry lips. “But… let me hang onto it fer just a bit longer? It’s… helped.”

Axton and Mordecai exchanged relieved smiles, and the sniper tapped his ECHO. “Hey, Tina… break into your crumpet stash. We’re bringing him home.”

_________

Zane was awakened unceremoniously by a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

“Get up, slab! You’re gonna miss it!”

He sputtered as he struggled to sit up, pushing his soaked hair out of his face and blinking uncomprehendingly, head pounding and stomach rolling with the mother of all hangovers. The team hadn’t let him have anything else to drink once they’d got him back to Boomtown for the night, so he’d grumpily found a cot to pass out on.

“Let’s go! The ECHOnet is blowing up!” Brick hauled him to his feet, shoved his belt and holster into his hands, and hustled him out of the shack and into the far-too-bright daylight. Zane followed numbly, half blind and trying very hard not to heave up whatever was left sloshing around in his stomach, not focused enough to even ask what the hell was going on. “Your team dropped into the middle of a shitstorm!” Brick stopped in front of the travel station, and when Zane just stared blankly at it, the ex-bandit king took his hand and pressed it to the screen, letting it read his signature, then shoved him roughly into the portal. “Good luck, slab!”

_Good luck?_

The station dumped him out at a locale that looked all too familiar, and right in the middle of a raging firefight. He dropped to his hands and knees out of dizziness rather than any sense of self-preservation, and immediately lost everything he’d managed to keep inside up to that point. Spitting and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, a sickeningly loud explosion made him look up, his heart stuttering in panic.

His fellow vault hunters were fighting a monstrosity. It had to be the Destroyer, and it was so much bigger and uglier than he expected. But that wasn’t what had him frozen in place…it was the face of the monster that made his breath catch in his throat… and as soon as he realized who and what it was, it locked eyes with him in recognition.

 _Tyreen_ …


	17. Vengeance in My Heart, Death in My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The operative finds himself face-to-face with the Destroyer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lots of angry writing in this one, innuendo, referenced rape, bad thoughts, self-doubt, suicidal reference... the joy just goes on and on.
> 
> On the plus side (for most readers), it no longer has the insult I originally had spewing from Zane's lips in the first draft, because even I was offended and horrified at what he said it after I wrote it....and I am a terrible person.
> 
> A few new notes/thoughts on this chapter at the end.

_“You_ will _remember who’s in charge here, won’t you?”_

_“Yyyeessssss.” He could barely choke out the word, the stranglehold of the siren’s power tight around his throat, swirling and crawling in scorching tendrils, caressing his face, his arms, his chest. It burned in ways that were more than physical, searching, burrowing…tasting._

_“I don’t think I believe you.” Her voice was angry, mocking, and soothing all at the same time. “Because you keep making the same mistakes, don’t you, old man?”_

_His eyes rolled back as the God-Queen sent another surge of power crashing through him, and he could feel his life…his soul…being siphoned away. It felt like skin being peeled back, layer by layer, from the inside out…and by this time, he couldn’t scream._

_“Zane…you ready for…?” Troy cut off whatever he was about to say, pushing his way into the room. “Ty! Stop it! It doesn’t help us if he’s dead.”_

_“I’m sick of his fucking mouth! He learns respect, or he’s my newest husk statue.” She yanked him close, so she was all he could see in his narrowing vision. “Do you hear me, vault thief?” Her voice went quiet, fury in her eyes and flowing in agonizing waves through the burning tendrils. “Do not_ ever _talk to me that way again.” There was no ‘or else.’ There didn’t need to be._

_She flung him away like a broken toy, but Troy caught him before he could collapse to the floor, holding the operative upright in an almost protective, gentle embrace._

_“Aww. But I kind of like his fucking mouth.”_

_Tyreen rolled her eyes, but the leering way he said it had the intended effect, the violent furor dying down to a more manageable burn._

_“I mean it, Troy. Next time…”_

Next time was right now, but he hadn’t said a word. He was frozen in place, wide-eyed, as the monstrosity thundered toward him, all tentacles and claws and whatever awful gaping maw Tyreen was melded into. His brain felt short-circuited, sluggish with a miserable hangover and flooded with questions tumbling over one another that really had no answers. What _the feck…? How is that even…? Just... why….??_

He didn’t have long to question…every step the Destroyer took towards him created an eruption of eridium crystals rocketing towards him, sending him flying backwards against the solid stone cliff face and making his implants whine in protest at the humming vibration of the native crystal. Worse, it made his chest ache, leaving him wondering…not for the first time…if he still had shards in his body that the surgeons had missed.

It was on him before he could recover, roaring its wordless madness at him…because what kind of creature could be locked away for a millennia and _not_ be a broken, seething, rabid thing? A tentacled hand batted him aside like a gnat, and he went sprawling, losing his grip on his holster and shield, helplessly watching them skid away. Without it, he wasn’t going to be able to take another hit, and a hangover would be the least of his worries.

“Hey, fugly!” He heard the crackling voice of Moze over his ECHO, and there was never a more welcome sound than Iron Bear’s launchers chucking round after round of explosives at the monster mash-up. “Turn around so I can see your slimy mug! I don’t wanna shoot monster ass all day!”

Next to him was a softer voice, even more familiar, warm even when she was chiding him. “Glad you could join the party.” Amara helped him to his feet and stabbed an all-too-precious hypo into his shoulder while Moze and FL4K kept the monster busy. “You’re a mess.”

“Believe me, I know.”

She helped him stay on his feet until the cooling warmth of the chemical took effect, occasionally shooting off a round or two just to keep the creature preoccupied. Mr. Chew bounded up beside them, backside wagging happily as he heaved and coughed until he hacked up the operative’s weapons belt, shield, and electronic trigger, leaving it at Zane’s feet in a puddle of drool and bile, before happily running off again to bite and spit at the monster’s heels. The operative looked down at the slobbery mound with a sigh, picking up the items, flinging off the sticky goop, and buckling on everything as quickly as he could while Amara stood guard with a disgusted look on her face.

“I’ve had me gear covered in worse things than skag vomit.”

“You good?”

“As it gets.”

She nodded and sprinted off to rejoin the fray, flinging phasegrasps and amorphous fists in between rattles of gunfire to drive back Tyreen the Destroyer. Zane watched her go, for just a moment wondering how much he’d damaged what they had.

_“Zane…you coming?” Amara lazed on the bunk, stretching and flipping over on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands, as she watched his back hunched over the workbench. He was clad only in boxers and one of his grey shirts, and she admired the lean muscle of his long legs, one bare foot propped on a rung of the stool as he tinkered with a dismantled drone._

_“Hmm?” He glanced over his shoulder, brows furrowed in concentration…but the lines eased and settled into a smile, setting his tools down on the bench without looking back. Rising from the chair, he crossed to her in two long strides and settled on top of her, nuzzling against the side of her neck and fluttering soft kisses over her shimmering tattoos. “Sorry…got distracted.”_

_“I have better distractions in mind.”_

“Zane! You joining or what?”

He snapped back to the present, leaping out of the way of a fireball, and smacking his shield into active mode in time to absorb the sparks and shockwave of the impact. Triggering a drone and clone in rapid succession, he activated a heavy assault rifle and went into autopilot…the dance of decades of death and destruction, zigging then zagging between the gouts of fire, boulders of eridium, and finely aimed lasers. This was by no means his best performance…very, very far from it…but he could still keep himself alive amidst the stumbles and shield breaks and missed shots.

He could also still keep his teammates alive…jumping in front of a thrown crystal boulder aimed at a downed Moze, because his shield could take the stress…standing back-to-back with Amara to mow down an incoming swarm…shoving FL4k out of the way of a beam of fire, having to beat out the flame on his own sleeve as a result…all while trying not to panic.

That was the biggest challenge out here…not devolving into a screaming, useless puddle of his own fear. The Destroyer was horrific by itself, but with Tyreen’s siren powers merged into it, it was fucking terrifying. Every time he saw that half-body emerge from the creature’s maw, he really just wanted to throw his gun down and collapse into a quivering ball, blubbering in terror. Years back, in training, one of his instructors had told them, ““Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power.” This was every fear all wrapped up into one giant nightmare. One top of that, this thing reminded him of Troy when his mechanical arm was disconnected…the resemblance now between the twins was unsettling.

_You put a bullet through his head already, boyo. A full cylinder of bullets, if you want to get technical._

Yet here was Troy’s very essence, melded together with his sister, all of their powers combined with a _thing_ the Eridians were so worried about that they locked it in the biggest prison they had. Skipping over a blast of crystal shards, he fired at the Tyreen-blob, starting to feel lightheaded from the overdose of adrenaline his body was pumping out. Fight _and_ flight at the same time were wreaking havoc on his brain and his reactions. There was no other choice but to keep going or die….he was starting to think that continuing at this pace meant death either way.

_“Come for me, Zane…” Her voice purred in his ears, but there was no pleasure…only trembling dread and pain. The god-queen hummed her pleasure above him, but the knife embedded in his wrist, pinning him to the floor, kept his mind and his body disconnected._

_“Easy now, Ty… you’re starting to get that glow.” Even her brother’s voice was husky with need. The hitman just wanted to be left alone…to completely disconnect…to forget all of this nightmare…all he could think of between the pain and the weakness of all the ways they’d bled him out over and over was, ‘Just let it be over. I don’t care how anymore. Just…over.’_

“Come on, Zane! She’s down!” Moze was shouting at him, as she dashed towards the monster, clambering up on its back for what seemed like the hundredth time. While he wanted to sprint, he just couldn’t come up with that much energy, instead, aiming down the sights to the writhing Tyreen torso, putting bullet after bullet in her head as he advanced step-by-step. Every time before, the thing had thrown off whoever had been shooting at its nearly hidden eye, but this time, it just shuddered.

Zane found himself face-to-face with the god-monster Tyreen, and it reached up a trembling hand towards him, pleading. He didn’t know if it was pleading for its life or begging to be released from something she realized too late that she couldn’t actually control. It didn’t matter. Unlike the sympathy he could muster for Troy, who showed him the only… _manipulative_ …kindness during his forced tenure, he had no love for her… only hatred… only fear. Baron’s words to his younger self echoed in his head… _If you can’t make them respect you, boy, make them fear you…_

He unloaded the entire clip into the god-monster’s head, ignoring the blood spray and inhuman screaming. When it was empty, he reloaded and emptied it again…and again. When there was only a mangled mess of flesh left, he realized the screaming he heard was his own. Panting for breath, he finally lowered the rifle, barrel red hot and smoldering.

“Hey, killer…” The voice was quiet, tentative, followed by a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think it’s dead.”

“Are we sure?” He saw the sudden glow out of the corner of his eye and involuntarily took a step back. He knew it was Lilith…stolen powers flowing back...but for just a moment, the fear returned.

 _He faced off with Lilith on the deck of Sanctuary III, glaring down at her, pistol in hand, even though it wasn’t actually pointed at her. “You_ left _me there… so yeah…this is your fucking fault,” His tone was practically dripping venom._

_Lil’s wasn’t the only gaping expression as the words left his mouth. “Woah, there, killer… how is…”_

_“All of this. All of it from th’_ very beginning _...even before us.._. _because you are a shite leader and you know it.”_

_“That’s enough, Zane.”_

_“Oh, no… not even beginning to be enough. I am_ done _taking orders from you. If you had just …” He paused taking a breath to try to calm the anger boiling in his head, “well… this would have been over!” He towered over her, using every bit of his height and fury to intimidate._

 _“Then maybe you should have killed them yourself instead of letting them fuck you for their audience.” He did_ not _just hear those words come out of her lips. With a snarl, he shoved her backwards, gun raising to point at her head now that they had some space between them. She couldn’t help but stumble backwards into the console, taken off-guard by the speed and rage behind his reaction._

_“You don’t listen to yer team. You don’t see what’s right in front of yer face. You won’t even listen to yer own better judgment. If it was a one-time thing, I mighta forgiven it, but this is a fecking habit with you. So ya know what… to hell with you and yer Crimson Raiders, because you have brought this shite down on yer own fecking head…because you are a selfish fecking excuse for a siren just like Tyreen."_

_He holstered his pistol without his former show-off trigger twirl, giving her a final warning glare, then turning on his heel and walking away._ Feck this _… He could feel Amara’s horrified stare at his back, passing by the other vault hunters with their mix of confused expressions. He realized belatedly that they’d never actually seen him in full-on Flynt fury mode. Angry, yes. Cursing, yes. This… no. He wasn’t going to stop and coddle their hurt feelings or talk them out of whatever they were thinking of him right now. He was right. Lilith was a walking disaster, and he was_ right _. There was no way she could actually tell him he was wrong, that if she’d just_ helped _him, this whole fucking Calypso nightmare would have been long over and done._

 _“Hey! Flynt!”_ Great… now she was getting her bravado back. _“If you ever point a gun at me again, it will be the last fucking thing you do.”_ Well, wasn’t that just cliché as all hell.

_He barked out a laugh, raising his arms outward, turning on his heel to face her once more. He didn’t stop walking, instead continuing a backwards strut as the bridge doors started to slide shut between them._

_“Yeah? Come and get me…_ Firehawk _.”_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the team approaching apprehensively, unsure how this was going to play out, considering the last time he and Lilith had said _anything_ to each other before he gave Axton the slip on Eden-6. He slung his rifle over his shoulder, cleared his throat, and spit on the oozing monster.

“I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

Amara came closer, glancing between the monster and Lilith, wondering which one he was talking about… or if it was a bit of both.

He vaguely heard Tannis fretting over something nearby…but he was checked out…physically, mentally, emotionally… he just wanted to get drunk and sleep for the next few years…except his home planet wasn’t going to last that long. 

Since they were going to die soon anyway, he grabbed Amara’s hand and pulled her closer, not roughly…if she protested or resisted, he would just let her go and walk away…wrapping her slowly into a tight, sweaty, grimy, bloody embrace, whispering against her, “I’m sorry, ‘Mara.”

“I know.”

"I need to go sit and have about five or six heart-attacks now, if that's okay."

She chuckled quietly against his chest, then blinked and pulled back to look him over. "Wait...you _are_ kidding, right?"

"Right now... not sure."

It was only after the sudden fiery burst from the restored siren that their attention snapped back to the spectacle, watching Lilith take off into the sky and toward the moon. The explosion of power lit up the sky, brighter than before, then settled into an echo of the vanished moon, and the phoenix blazing where it had once been.

Zane sighed, gesturing at the fire bird emblem. "I dunno if that's the one selfless thing she's ever done, or if it's just one more self-serving act. And I think I'm too exhausted ta care."

“Come on, Zane. Let’s just go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm going to be extra hard on myself for this chapter, because it's choppy, and on the surface, it looks like it resolves an issue with the snap of a finger...or in this case, the death of a villain. It doesn't.
> 
> This isn't the end, nor any final ending I had in mind. A person can say, "I'm fine now," but anyone who has suffered knows it's not that easy, and I'm *not* going to kill a storyline with a ridiculous quick-fix solution of Zane just snapping back to his old self because he killed a nemesis. I hope it didn't come across that way, but I'm in a mood and over-thinking it, so there it is.
> 
> The title is taken from a line from Shakespeare, just shortened a bit.
> 
> “Expose yourself to your deepest fear; after that, fear has no power.” - the quote I found was attributed to Jim Morrison... not really sure if that's accurate or not, considering the glut of wrongly-attributed stuff online. Oh well.


	18. The Voices Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection and lots of dark, dark places. 
> 
> Warnings: Self-harm and deeply suicidal thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally didn't post any beginning notes, but I keep feeling like I need to add a warning or explanation or something. Depression and anxiety can be an awful, awful thing, can switch on and creep in before you're even aware it's there, and take you to the darkest places in your head.
> 
> If you're in that head-space, know you're not alone and people around you *do* care. Deeply. Please, please reach out to someone...anyone, even if you think it doesn't matter, because it does. That inner voice can and does lie to us.

He stood under the heat of the shower for well over an hour, and still felt like he was never going to be clean again.

For the first fifteen minutes, he’d just numbly watched all the dried blood from a multitude of creatures circling down the drain. After that, he’d scrubbed, then scrubbed again. When he finally recognized that that there was fresh blood circling the drain, he stopped scrubbing…stopped trying to scrape off the tattoos on his arm like they were dirt…and shut the water off with a grunt. He blotted at the scratches, then gave up, sighed and wrapped the towel around his waist, wringing the excess water from his hair.

He heard Mr. Chew whining on the other side, and without knocking, FL4K stuck their head in the door.

“Apologies, but our pet has decided there is something wrong.”

Zane crossed his arms, ineffectually hiding the weeping scrapes. “M’fine.”

For a relatively expressionless bot, FL4K didn’t look like they believed him, but nodded and shut the door, returning the operative to his privacy. Sighing, he realized he needed to find an acceptable non-committal answer to the “You okay?” question that he was going to be plagued with as long as he was onboard Sanctuary. He didn’t feel like he was going to shoot anyone for asking…at least not today. Tomorrow was another story.

Running his fingers through the wet tangles of his hair, he stood in front of his bunk, watching the stars drift past through the little window, until he heard the door open. He didn’t turn around. “Hey, ‘Mara.”

“How did you know it was me?”

_Because I can smell your perfume and that delicious lavender stuff you soak in that makes your skin so soft. Because I can hear your footsteps, and still know the rhythm of them like my own heartbeat. Because you’re the only one I can stand to let this close right now._

“Because I reset me locks and your ECHO sig is the only other that’ll trigger it.”

“Oh.”

 _Zane, you are such an_ _idiot._

“Tannis wanted me to ask…”

“No.”

“You haven’t even heard what she wants.”

“Don’t care.” Now he turned around to face her, arms crossing in finality. It was final until he saw that little nostril flare she did when she was building up to an irritated lecture. She crossed her own arms to match his stance, purple irises flickering over his figure, pausing at the towel…but frowning at the angry scratches on his arm before meeting his gaze evenly.

“So is it just Tannis and Lilith, or is it _all_ sirens…because I’m feeling a little offended here. And you haven’t said two words to Ava since Lil vanished Elpis...and she's upset by that, too.”

He dropped his arms to his sides with a sigh, reaching over to the workbench for a screwdriver to adjust his artificial hand, slumping back onto his bunk as he pretended to be overly involved in tinkering with the tech, flexing metal digits with a scowl. “Tannis is a bit too…clinical… for what I can handle at the moment.” Which wasn’t the whole truth, but it was easier to explain.

“And Ava?”

He scowled again. “She’s too feckin’ young and irresponsible to be handed command of an entire city.”

“And what… _you_ wanted it?”

He just gave her an even stare. “If ya really don’t know me better than that, we’re done here.”

Her lip curled up in a twisted scowl that made part of him really just want to reach over and pull her in close to apologize with a kiss for making a grumpy remark.

“No, I don’t want command of _anything_. Sorry… I’m just… “ _Frustrated. Angry. Need ta kill someone, but we did that already._

“I know.” She frowned more and carefully sat down next to him, shoulder-to-shoulder.

“And no, I don’t have a thing against all sirens. Or at least not against _one_ of you.”

“I _knew_ it! You’re secretly in love with Tannis!”

Startled, he glanced down at her, brow quirked, but she had that little smile on her lips that he adored, a sly, teasing expression that meant she wasn’t as mad at him as she probably wanted to be. He finally snorted a short chuckle and took her hand, twining their fingers together.

She leaned into him, and when she finally spoke again, it was quiet. “Maybe I was wrong… Sanctuary may not be a great place for you right now, if you’re going to be angry at everyone all the time.”

“Are you tellin’ me to pack me bags already?”

“No…” She sighed. “I don’t know. I thought I had this conversation all planned out in my head, and it made more sense then. Now I don’t know what to say. You need something that’s just not here.”

He felt his heart drop, and it must have flickered over his face because she backpedaled immediately. “No, no. Just Sanctuary, that’s all I meant!”

Heaving a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. “I still don’t know _why_ you put up with me shite.”

“Maybe just get away from this place. Moxxie mentioned some project she said you might be interested in.”

“Maybe. I’ll talk to her.”

____________

But he hadn’t talked to Moxxi, deciding maybe planetside was where he needed to be for a while… and now he was sitting in the passenger seat of a technical, sharing a very awkward silence with a fellow sniper and ex-vault hunter, taking him up on an overdue invitation. Mordecai was keeping his eyes fastened on the road… or what passed for a road on Pandora…more likely scanning for bandits than actually paying attention to where they were. His expression was barely readable with the sun glinting off his goggles.

“Didn’t ever take you for a quiet man, Flynt.”

Zane glanced over at the scrawny sniper, taking a deep drag off his cigarette before flicking it out of the technical’s side window. “Things change.”

Mordecai grunted…whether it was in agreement or not liking the answer…chewing on the stick end of a match in another long, uncomfortable silence.

“What? You don’t think so?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Look, boyo, if you’re just gonna be all judgy while I’m out here, then you can let me out right here.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”

“No…” He pointed out the window. “That way is Roland’s Rest. Through that pass, you can get to The Droughts… and…” twisting around to look out the back… “…if we turn around and go back that way a bit, we can catch a flick at the Sin-a-Plex. So you can take yer middle-a-nowhere and feck right off.” Settling back into the passenger seat, he kicked a booted foot up on the dashboard and gave the merc what he hoped was a don’t-test-me-on-Pandora-geography glare.

“Okay, okay.” Mordecai was silent for a moment. “I have to admit… when you called, I really thought you were going to wait till we were out here away from everyone and put a bullet in my head.”

Zane sighed heavily. “Look… I get that none of ya know if I can be trusted anymore or not… but if I was that upset with you, I would’ve offed the lot of you when you broke into me home…and the other vaulties would spend th’ rest of their short lives failin’ to find yer bodies.”

“That’s… dark.”

“You brought it up, me boyo.”

“You don’t believe in waiting on revenge? Best served cold and all that?”

Zane smirked and turned his attention back out to the passing landscape and the occasional skag who tried unsuccessfully to keep up with the speeding vehicle. “Nope. Vengeance needs to be fast and angry. Sort of like make-up sex.”

Mordecai snorted out a laugh. “Why am I not surprised.”

“I’m fulla surprises.”

“Fulla somethin’.”

“We’re _all_ full of shite. I mean… look at us. Vault hunters are all misfits an’ criminals by nature.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Mordecai snorted again.

“Look at who we have.” Holding out a gloved hand, he started counting on his fingers, swapping hands mid-way through. “We are bandits, mercenaries, contract killers, vigilantes, AWOL soldiers, cannibals, sociopaths…and one AI with a permanent case of bloodlust. We’re not exactly what you’d call fine, upstandin’ citizens.”

The former merc considered it for a moment. “What about Rhys?”

Zane barked out a laugh. “Do you _really_ consider Rhys Strongfork a vault hunter? The CEO who nearly pissed himself trying to make up a good excuse to Zer0 for thinking his bestie had gone rogue?”

Mordecai stuttered out another chuckle. “Now that you mention it, no. Lilith, then.”

Zane pinched the bridge of his nose. “Feck _no_. She kidnapped and tortured a friend of mine. That is _not_ the action of a sane and stable person. I put her firmly in the sociopath party.”

"That's my friend you're disparaging there, _pendejo_. And who… _ohhhhhh_ ….. Athena.”

Zane just gave him an expressionless stare.

“You knew her.”

“Without you even asking, yes, I know you and Brick were involved. But Athena said the two of you tried to stop what she was doing…so no, I don’t put you in the same category. Orders are orders, and when it comes from someone ya think is a friend… But no. Maya and ‘Mara are the only ones of us I’d even consider as being good guys.” He smirked as his gaze went out to the passing mesas, because his thoughts were on Amara… she might be firmly on the side of ‘good,’ but she still got a kick out of a bloody bandit killing spree, bless her.

“Gee, thanks.” Mordecai was quiet again, letting the miles pass before continuing. “I really didn’t get to know Maya… spent a big chunk of time with the last batch of hunters blind drunk.”

“I can appreciate that, too.”

“Yeah, I know. _You_ were nearly too drunk to help out your team.”

Zane rolled his eyes with an irritated grunt.

“It’s not the answer, _cabrón_.”

“Don’t you start, too. I was fine with it before, and I’m more fine with it now.”

Mordecai snorted. “Next you’re gonna say you’re ‘fully functional’ or you work better when you’re _borracho_.”

“Again, ya can just let me out here if yer only plannin’ ta give me grief.”

The merc slammed on the brakes and his passenger came far too close to cracking his forehead on the dash from the sudden shop. “Grab your bags, and I’ll see you at the fort in a couple’a hours.”

Zane gave him a long look, then shrugged and hauled himself out through the window, reaching in to grab his pack. Dropping it to the ground, he stripped out of his jacket, shoved it into the canvas bag, slung that over his shoulder, and started walking without looking back, whistling.

_“Mierda!”_

Zane nearly snickered…Mordecai may have figured he’d just put up a half-hearted protest and they’d continue on, but now he was going to have to show up at Boomtown without their guest. Brick was going to be pissed. Tina was going to be pissed. And, when it got back to Amara, _she_ would be pissed. He’d probably end up taking some of the brunt of it, too, but he’d called the sniper’s bluff. Now the question was whether Mordecai would be stubborn and drive on without him, or tell him to get his arse back in the car and stop being an idiot.

Tires spun, spitting loose gravel as the vehicle lurched forward in a cloud of dust.

Stubborn, it was.

_Damn._

______________

The sun was going down when they heard the singing…long before the man appeared on the curve of the cliffside approach…and from the sound of it, he was lit.

_“I takes delight in the juice of the barley  
And countin' pretty women in the mornin' oh so early!_

_Mush a ring a ma dor um dah_  
Whack for the daddy oh, whack for the daddy oh  
There's whiskey in the jar! Hey!”

It was confirmed, when at the gate, he unsteadily pirouetted, swept a hand upward dramatically then made a grand bow, ending with a flourish and fingers trailing in the dirt.

“Thank ya, thank ya. I take requests!”

“Slab! You made it!” Brick gave Mordecai a distinctly displeased look before pasting on a smile to greet the drunken operative.

“Was there a doubt?”

“Yes?” Mordecai crossed his arms, trying to look angrily casual and not like he’d been biting his fingernails down to the quick for the last couple of hours. If Zane had decided to vanish into the desert again, Mordecai would have had more hell on his hands than he knew what to do with…and Zane took a bit of twisted pleasure in his misery. If _he_ had to be that miserable, it was only fair to share the burden, right?

“Mordy! Didja miss me?”

“Fuck you.”

“Awww…I love you, too, boo, but I think Brick would get jealous.”

He could almost feel the daggers Mordecai was glaring in his direction before the merc gave an irritated growl and walked away with a stiff stride.

“Welp, since I’m already makin’ meself unwelcome, point me to my little corner of dirt, and I’ll just stay outta th’ way.”

Now it was Brick’s turn to sigh, and he sounded every bit like a beleaguered spouse. “You can throw down over there. I’ll go talk to Mordy.”

Yep… now he felt like a complete jackass for being…well… an ass. He located his meager accommodations and tossed his pack on the ground, flopping down on the cot and trying unsuccessfully to close his eyes and make his own voices be silent for a while. He could still put on a good front, but it was harder to keep up than it used to be. After a while, he knew he wasn't going to sleep, so he got up and pulled his jacket on against the cool desert night.

Rummaging through his bag for his flask and a pack of smokes, he slipped out, skirting the edges of the camp, and climbing up to the nearby overlook. It was nothing short of a miracle that he didn’t slip and break his fool neck on the way.

_You’d deserve it if you did._

From far below, he could hear the sound of voices…no clear words, but the tone was unmistakably argumentative.

 _You caused that, ya stupid bastard._ Groaning, he unfastened his patch and pressed his hands against his eyes. _Everything you touch is ruined._ _Your team hates you, and now this team will too. Way to go! This one has to be a record for burning bridges._

_Shut up._

His brilliant idea of coming back to Pandora, except this time without the crushing loneliness and horrifying memories of his childhood home, was not so brilliant after all. Amara had looked doubtful, but agreed since he wouldn’t be by himself… and, he suspected, because it would be easier for more than one person to have a chance of successfully keeping an eye on him.

_What did you expect? You’re a burden. You’re broken. You killed your worst nightmare and it didn’t change anything. You’re still a selfish git._

_Shut up._

_The Calypsos didn’t break you…you were always broken. But it took them to open your eyes and show you the truth._

_Shut up._ He took a long swing from the flask, recently it had done very little to silence the hateful voices in his head…the ones that had always nagged and harped and reminded him of all the awful things he’d done and kept driving him to drink because it would not let up until everything was numb and blurry around the edges. Things were blurry now, but the voice was louder than ever.

_So just throw yourself off the edge and let everyone else get on with their lives._

_No._

_It’s not a bad idea, you know. They didn’t give you the option of just letting you die. Now you can take matters into your own hands._

_No._

_Freedom. No more pain. No more torture._

_No!_

_It’s just a matter of time, you know. You’ll never have the choice in your own hands again with everyone who's out to kill you anyway._

_Shut up!_

_Or you can just wait for that bullet to find you, because it's going to happen soon. In front of your friends again, no doubt._

_SHUT UP!_

He leapt forward, his heart pounding way too fast, and flung the flask away as far as he could, screaming a wordless howl of refusal. He saw it glint once as it caught the light from one of the lanterns around the fort, then vanished into the desert darkness like it never existed at all. Some skag was going to find it and gulp it down as if it was kibble. When he threw it, for that split second, it felt freeing… the voices seemed as if they went silent when he flung it away…but now it felt just as stupid and pointless as most of his actions lately.

“Shite.” He couldn’t even remember where he’d gotten that flask. Was it one of many he’d owned over the years, or was it one that someone had given him as a gift? He felt suddenly exposed without it, a flash of panic to be without a crutch… and that was the only alcohol he still had with him after his ill-conceived bender while hiking all the way here. It wasn’t really likely that any of them would let him out of their sight long enough for him to restock. Boomtown was a dry place if there ever was one.

 _You trapped yourself, Flynt._ But he knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t come down here with any pre-existing intent…did he?

He didn’t have time to question it or argue more with his demons, the sound of soles scratching on loose rock and an oddly cheery humming announcing Tina before she plunked down at his feet, swinging her legs over the edge of the makeshift platform. He saw now he was too close to the edge, and nervously backed up a couple of steps before sitting down with her. Not looking in her direction, he fished out a cigarette and lit it, flickering flame from the lighter highlighting his features for a moment.

“How do you do that without catching your eyebrows on fire?”

That made him look up, clicking the cover closed with a soft *clink* of metal, blinking rapidly as the first waft of smoke hit his eyes. “Uh… never thought about it.”

“They’re all cray-cray all over the place, so might wanna consider it. Lemme see.” She held out her hand for the lighter, and he shrugged, dropping it into her palm. Squinting at it in the starlight, she turned it over in her hands, peering at the etchings in the side. “What’s this?”

“Me initials.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Me first wife.”

“First?? How many have you had, dude?”

“I dunno. Lost count…” He really didn’t care to dwell on it. Yet another awful thing on a lifelong list.

“That’s…weird.”

“Yeah.” He held his hand out for his lighter, and she placed it carefully in his grasp.

“Why’d you keep it, then? Keeping stuff from exes is baaaaaaad juju.”

“Because she was the one that died.”

Tina looked at him for an uncomfortably long time, and he swore that she had figured out his entire life in that moment. He considered leaving her here on the overlook because it was starting to get creepy, but she blinked and the spell was broken.

“What’d you throw away when I came up?”

“You are _full_ of questions.”

“Well…” She gestured to the path behind them. “The boys will be at it for a while, then they’ll make up, and it’s just rude to listen to that part. Fascinating… but ruderuderuderude. _Rude!”_

He held his hands up in surrender…resigned to be her entertainment. There were worse things… like how he was already starting to feel a headache coming on or how much he wanted another drink. “I threw away me flask.”

“You sound like you didn’t really mean to.”

“I didn’t.”

“But you did.”

He sighed, trying to be patient with whatever she was digging at. “Yes, Tina. And now it’s gone, and I didn’t want to be rid of it.”

“Sure you did.”

Clenching his teeth, he bit back the first response that came to mind. “And how’s that?”

“Because you’re lost.”

Attention snapping back to her, he tried to figure out just what she meant by _that_. “How…exactly…do you figure?”

“Because you’re pretending you’re not you. Your heart knows, but your brain doesn’t, so it made you get rid of it. Besides, Mordy says alcohol is evil.”

“I can’t… I don’t even begin ta know what most of that means.” Zane was starting to think he might still be too drunk for this conversation, the forgotten cig slowly burning itself out between his fingers. Tina gave him an exasperated look and scrambled to her feet, so close to the edge that he thought he might have to grab _her_ to keep her from tumbling over…but she was far more certain about her balance than he was.

“You and Mordy should sit down and talk. Not yell. _Talk_.”

“Tina… he’s not going to…”

“DO IT!”

“Okay, okay!” He had been so sure she was going unleash crazy on him just a second before, it caught him completely off guard when she leaned down and crushed him into a tight hug.

“You’re one of the good ones, Zee. And we’ll help… even if you are lost.” With that pronouncement, she let him go and skipped back towards the fort, humming the same tune as when she’d arrived.

He watched her go, cigarette sputtering out with a last desperate trail of smoke, thinking that he’d just had the weirdest conversation he’d ever had in his life. And maybe…just _maybe_ …she was on to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. I keep feeling like I've written this before, so maybe I'm the one going slowly insane. Fixed one clunky sentence in an edit, but it didn't change events any.
> 
> Some intentional contradictions in this one, because alcohol.
> 
> And had to throw in an Irish drinking song, because... alcohol. I don't know who wrote it, but I know it's been covered by Thin Lizzie and Metallica, therefore, it is awesome.


	19. Only in the Darkness...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denial, spinning out of control, and survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rollercoasters abound, but it's a little lighter than the last couple of dark pits of despair. I promise, there is light at the end of the tunnel.

_“You know how good this could be if you’d let it.” The voice in his ear purred, still heavy and slow with recently spent desire. A pierced tongue dragged wetly across his throat, punctuated at the end by a kiss on his skin that was going to leave a mark._

_“Your sister…”_

_“Isn’t here.” Troy raised himself up by his elbows, peering down at the older man with a knowing smile. “I am.”_

_Rolling his hips made Zane groan beneath him, and the siren crashed their lips together in a fierce, claiming kiss that gradually melted into a slow, sensual exploration. Metal and flesh fingers traced across his skin, but when he tried to reach for Troy, desperately needing to feel heated flesh beneath his own fingers, he was met with the resistant clink of metal-on-metal that nearly…just nearly…snapped him back to himself when the god-king claimed him again. The moan of pleasure that had half escaped from his throat turned bitter in his mouth, and he clenched his eyes shut even as he surrendered to his body’s betrayal._

_A burning touch around his throat that stopped his breath made him snap his eyes open. The god-king held him down, now revealed in all his power...red and blue tendrils spiraling and grasping, twining around them both and wrapping their limbs, tying them together and burrowing beneath skin. Troy was on his knees, still buried deep, arching backwards and spreading his arms wide, welcoming their bond and the power that flowed between them. Zane tried to struggle, but was held immobile in silent worship by the tendrils that were snaking down his throat and behind his eyes._

_Troy leaned forward, haloed by that infernal, pulsing eridium-colored light, and grinned until it seemed his mouth would split his head in half._

_“You’re mine, Flynt.”_

The operative jerked awake, instantly aware of both the blistering headache that had hung on the fringes of consciousness for the last few days and the raging hard-on from the dream memory that had quickly turned to nightmare.

 _Had that actually happened? Parts of it…maybe._ Lately, reality was blurring together with dreams so vivid that he wasn’t always sure when he’d woken up…or if _this_ was actually the dream.

Daylight poured in through the window, painful in its cheery brightness, and the operative rolled over onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes to try to blot it out. All it succeeded in doing was giving his memory a black backdrop to replay the dream in clear, vivid technicolor.

Sitting up, he rubbed his temples, trying to will the headache and his libido back down. Unfortunately, he knew exactly how to solve both issues. One was to go find a drink, and the other was to go find a drink. He refused to use any memories of his time with the twins as wank material. That would only serve to confirm how far he’d fallen into their depravity, although he really didn’t need more proof than what was in his head.

_“You’re mine…”_

Suppressing a shudder, he stood and stretched himself fully awake…and nearly jumped out of his skin at the impressed wolf-whistle at the door. Tina stood in the open door with a plate of eggs, meat, and a crumpet, and Enrique IV panting and whining at her heels.

“Doesn’t anyone here fecking _knock_?” He spun so his back was to her, grabbed a pair of jeans off the chair and yanked them on over his boxers, grunting as he rearranged himself enough to get the zipper up. He wasn’t normally so prudish, but this was _Tina_ , for feck’s sake, the one person on Pandora that was probably crazier than he was, and he didn’t dip into that kind of crazy. Not intentionally, anyway. Plus she was way too young for his leering old bones... and it also didn’t hurt that Brick would crush him into paste if he even _thought_ about looking at her with wicked intent. Which he _didn’t._ And wouldn’t. _Ever._

“Come on…you act like I’ve never seen a naked dude before.”

“ _Not_ goin’ there with you, Tina.”

“Good, ‘cause not interested in grandpa dick.” She made a gagging noise.

He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or insulted or a bit of both.

“Here, Brick-a-brac made breakfast a while ago. Kept some warm for you.”

“Thanks.” He took the plate from her and set it aside, but she poked him in the ribs.

“No… _eat_. You’re as skinny as Mordy-mord.”

“No one’s as skinny as Mordecai.”

“I can count your ribs! Look! One, two, three, four…”

“Alright! I’m eating!” He picked up a fork, loaded it with egg and shoved it into his mouth. It actually tasted good, and his stomach growled once before it threatened to rebel from the creeping agony of the migraine which was still gradually blossoming behind his eyes.

She eyed him warily. “Swallow it.”

He chewed once and eyed her right back, defiantly.

“SWALLOW!”

Startled, he gulped, nearly choking on the too large bite. When he could breathe again and wasn't doubled over in a coughing fit, she handed him the thermos of coffee she had in her other hand, and he slugged down a mouthful, ignoring the resulting burned tongue.

She smiled, satisfied, and skipped away, although Enrique paused in the door to sniff and lick its chops. Zane flicked a glance out the window to make sure she'd gone, and cautiously held the plate out to the skag, who leapt forward and devoured the offering, plate and all, nearly taking the operative’s hand along with it. The creature wagged its butt happily, throwing off sparks, only pausing at the door to barf up the plate and fork before bounding after its master.

Zane left the dripping utensils where they’d fallen, taking a more careful sip of coffee...although his hand was shaking more now, and he wondered if Tina had noticed when he took the plate from her. It was time to thank the team for their hospitality and get out while the getting was good. Turning back to his small pile of belongings, he threw on a shirt and started shoving everything else haphazardly into his pack.

“Leaving? You barely had breakfast.” The merc leaned in the doorframe, arms crossed, gazing pointedly at the discarded plate in the entry.

He really wanted to repeat his earlier question about boundaries, but only scowled as he buckled the holster strap around his thigh and started pulling on his gloves. “Feelin’ restless. Thought I’d go scout a bandit camp to the east I saw when we were comin’ in the other day.”

“You gonna walk that far?”

“Thought I’d travel in from the Rest and say ‘hey’ to Vaughn on the way.” He really hadn’t, but the plan right now was to _go_ , not where or why. And half-truths flowed so easily after so many years of deception and self-preservation. He always found it was better to weave stories around the truth than to fabricate completely. It was easier to remember, less likely to slip, and there was a lot less guilt when you were telling tall tales rather than outright lying to someone’s face.

Baron had been an expert liar… he could tell you a story so bald-faced that it would have been unbelievable coming from anyone else…but he always told his lies with just the right expression, just the right amount of faux emotion, and a tone of voice that made you believe _he_ believed it, so it _must_ be true. As a kid, Zane had tried to emulate his eldest brother, but found he just didn’t have the knack for it and usually gained a beating from the attempt. A half truth, or even a lie of omission, suited him much more comfortably, and had gotten him out of more than one scrape in his lifetime.

“Cool. If we’re bandit-hunting, I’ll come with. Might as well drive out. No point in all that jumping around.”

The operative pressed his lips together in an irritated line, but his head hurt too much to come up with a good enough reason to go off on his own. It was just Mordecai, though. If he could slip away from Axton, he could get away from the sniper when the opportunity presented itself. He should have done it yesterday when he could still blink without feeling like sandpaper was scraping over his eyes, but Brick and Tina had seen how restless he was and dragged him into their weekly game of Bunkers & Badasses....and damn if that wasn’t actually kinda fun.

“Fine. But no bird.”

“Why? Talon likes to hunt, too.”

“No. Bird.”

“What’s your problem with my bird? He likes _you_.”

“Well, I don’t like it. Look, birdman, I get that it’s your thing, but it’s not mine. No. Birds.”

“Fine, whatever.”

______________

Zane stood near the edge of the cliff, balancing himself with one foot braced on a low rock, binoculars pressed to his eyes, flicking the magnification with his index finger as the sniper next to him took a breath, let it out and pulled the trigger. The report echoed through the canyon…and through Zane’s head with a painful rattle…but the intended target only brushed his ear as if trying to get rid of a pesky buzzing insect.

“Left.”

“Bullshit!”

“I’m tellin’ ya, boyo, yer sights are off…or yer pullin’ left.”

“There is nothing wrong with my sights!”

He shoved the binoculars at Mordecai as he yanked away the rifle, took aim, twitched the barrel a tiny fraction to the right and fired. The bandit’s head exploded in a spray of blood and the headless body fell over. His psycho clanmates ran around in frantic circles, searching for the source of the attack, but they were so far away, the yelling and random flares of gunfire erupting from the roused camp didn’t reach the hunters.

Zane pushed the rifle into the spectacled sniper’s hands and took his own property back with a grunt, “Left.” The shot had left his ears ringing and head clanging with enough pain to make his eyes water.

Mordecai swore extensively, peering down the outside of the barrel. “Wait… why are there tooth marks..?” He leaned over the cliff face, “TINA! Keep Enrique away from my stuff! We talked about this!”

Distantly the reply came back, “Oooooookay!”

Even more unfortunately for him, Mordecai hadn’t come alone. As soon as the engine revved, Brick and Tina had both come running out and piled in behind them, with Enrique leaping up onto the back with enough force that the entire vehicle sagged and bounced with the added weight. Mordecai had shaken his head with a laugh and said something about “…this is why we have a tech instead of a runner,” before taking off with a lurch. Tina leaned out of the window with her hands in the air, screaming, “Roooooaaaad triiiiiiiiiiip!”

Somehow managing a chuckle, Zane clapped the birdman on the shoulder. “Don’t feel bad, old man. I’m just a better shot.”

“We’ll see about that, grandpa. Day ain’t over.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s at least make it even. No pre-chewed weapons.” He picked up one of his own rifles, running a hand down the smooth wood stock before reverently handing it to Mordecai. “Not as much range, but this one’s a beauty.”

“No scope?”

“Not everything has to have a scope. I'm older'n you and not _that_ blind.”

“Blasphemer. Ooooh, niiiiice. Someone loved this baby. Where’d you find it?”

“The Honeywells over in the Splinterlands. Did a few jobs for ‘em before ever’thing went to hell.” Leaning back in the rusty chair, he got a faraway look in his eyes. “I should go see how they’re doing since things calmed down.” After his head stopped pounding…and he had a few drinks in him again. He was well past the point that he needed to take on some heavy painkillers, except he was also past the point when he could keep them down.

"Calmed down for you or for them?"

"Hmm... bit of both."

He took back the rifle and sighted down the iron, but he couldn’t hold it as steadily as he could even a few minutes ago when he was still irritated at Mordecai’s shooting. He knew he couldn’t hide it this time, and that the merc had to see the sway. He lowered the weapon, squinting over at his companion, who was frowning, but not looking surprised in the least.

“It’s started, hasn’t it?”

Zane sighed heavily. “Of _course_ you know.” But he didn’t have time to wait for a response. Abruptly, he thrust the rifle into Mordecai’s hands, dropped to his knees and heaved over the side of the cliff.

Mordecai shrugged. “Been a few days, and Tina said you lost your flask by ‘accidentally throwing it off a cliff.’ It was only a matter of time.”

“So ya came with me to gloat when the DTs finally hit? Tell me 'I told ya so?'” He didn’t bother looking up, raising a shaking hand to wipe his mouth.

“Ain’t no gloatin’, _mi_ _amigo_. We wanna help.”

“I don’t need help.”

Mordecai didn’t respond to that, carefully setting the rifle out of the way.

“I don’t…” His words were cut off as he doubled over again, emptying his stomach against the rocks until he was dry heaving a thin line of spittle. Vaguely, he was aware that Mordecai had been kneeling next to him, supporting him, and at some point had even tied his hair back from his face with one of his red sashes. It made his chest ache that anyone would be so kind after all his snarling denial and the amount of shite he’d given them as 'hospitality' over the past couple of days.

“I didn’t…” He took a shuddering inhale of breath. “…didn’t come out here to sober up.”

“Maybe. Sometimes we know it’s time, even if we don’t wanna admit it.”

He shoved Mordecai away in irritation, scrambling to his feet and swaying as the world tilted crazily in front of his eyes.

_Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall._

“Flynt!”

_And for fecks’ sake, don’t black out! How long do I have? Can I get out before the shakes start in earnest? How far was it to the nearest FT station? Why don’t my legs work? Can I crawl…maybe I can just crawl…_

“Zane!”

_Get out… have a drink somewhere… recover and settle and center, and come back after with a discreet little flask and a little stash for emergencies like this._

_“Zane!!”_

The last call of his name had a frantic quality to it that he didn’t like at all...and Mordecai was all up in his face, but he was at a weird and impossible angle that defied gravity.

“Brick! Help me!”

_Not fast enough, then. Or this time is just worse. Did I black out already? Don’t let it be worse…_

“No, wait! Turn him over, quick!”

It felt like his throat was on fire and all his insides were coming up in burning gouts of flame and brimstone, but cool, strong hands held him when he couldn’t hold himself upright anymore, spent and exhausted from the effort.

“Izz’e dead?”

_Maybe? There were worse things._

“No, Tina.”

_You died from this shite once already, old man._

“He’s waaaay pale. He looks dead.”

More hands lifting, raising him up on his feet then gently easing him into a seat and buckling him in.

“He’s sick. Like I was.”

“Well, I can see _that_!”

_Didn’t learn your lesson then. Won’t learn it now._

“He’s not dead, Tina!”

“If you say so.”

_Yep…so much worse…_

_____________

It was a hellscape blur of hot and cold, shivering and burning up, waking up to find himself on fire… _but not literally!..._ and tangled in blankets on an semi-familiar floor, or wet and shivering in the middle of a shower’s deluge.

Lights were too bright, sound was too loud, smells were nauseating. Day and night blurred into an unnatural rotation that went forward sometimes and backwards other times, until he was dizzy and puking up acid or nothing at all, which only served to send his body into spasms of agony.

_Death would be better. How did I live through this before?_

_You didn’t…._

_This is hell._

_It has to end sometime…doesn’t it?_

He couldn’t trust his senses…he had no idea where he actually was, or what parts were real or the howling madness of hallucination. The only constant was the pain in his head and in his guts and in his bones that barely dulled before it came roaring back.

_Am I dying again? This is so much worse._

_If this is your afterlife, this is what you deserve…_

Muscles ached from the constant shakes, throat parched and raw from puking and crying. He didn’t want this…swore he’d never go through this again. _Again._

He watched his life on replay…or maybe it was happening for the first time.

The white-hot agony of a knife blade pressed to his iris… standing over a lonely gravestone, a hollow emptiness making his chest ache, but he couldn’t bring himself to cry…eridium burning its way through his veins as a mad god buried it in his flesh in an offering to herself…a never-ending string of contracts, death, and blood money till it ended with having to kill people he once knew…Handsome Jack’s mocking smile as he paid him for increasingly psychotic requests…a dark twin god offering adoration in one hand and eternal torment in the other without a choice of one or the other…sitting in an alley, waiting out an assassin, holding a hand over his side and praying he could hold out and the hunter would come looking for him before he bled out…shanking a fellow inmate because it was the only thing distracting enough to allow him an opportunity to escape…death at his hands that had become so casual it was barely an afterthought.

He’d become exactly what he didn’t want to be…a Flynt: torturing, tormenting, surviving against all odds no matter what the cost.

No matter the cost.

He _was_ a Flynt, through and through…there was no goodness, no salvation, no help, no love, no tenderness…only an occasional far-away echo of a long-lost angel, despairing in the distance, “Come back to us...we love you... _I_ love you.”

_Where was ‘back?’ Had there ever been anything except this?_

_Help me…_

____________

When he swam gradually out of the darkness, the roar was gone, the air was still, and wherever he was remained silent and dark.

_Is it over? Am I finally dead?_

“Hey, you.”

He took a deep breath… and both despaired and rejoiced that he could breathe at all. Slender fingers played gently across his forehead, tenderly brushing his hair back from his face.

“Welcome back.”

He wanted to reply, but his mouth was bone dry, and he didn’t feel like he could even pry his lips apart. He could crack his eyes open though, and was greeted by an angel in purple and black who was gazing down at him with an expression that he couldn’t quite describe...and it scared him enough that he wasn’t sure he wanted to. She gave him a tired smile, and pressed her hand against his cheek, before standing as if to go. He reached up and grabbed her wrist, weakly, but it was enough to return her attention to him.

Her smiling down at him was a reprieve from hell that he didn’t realize how desperately he had yearned for.

“I’m not going far. Water. Clothes for when you feel like getting up.”

He nodded, but was out again before she came back.

She set the cup on the floor where he could reach it, and flipped on the fan to help cool his still too-warm skin. His breathing was easier, his heartbeat steady for a change. Leaning down, she kissed him tenderly on the forehead before walking out, quietly closing the door behind her and leaning against it with her eyes closed.

Mordecai was making his way across the empty living room, stepping around empty soda cans, boxes of cold pizza, and the remains of an abandoned poker game. Rubbing his eyes beneath his goggles and yawning, he balanced a mug of black coffee in his other hand, but pulled up short when he saw Amara, frowning at her expression.

“Is he…?”

“He’s awake… or was for a minute. Actually sleeping for a change."

The relief on his face was immediate. “Good… good. He’s gonna be worn out for a while.” He started past her, to sit with the operative, but she grasped his arm, stopping him.

“Hasn’t he been through enough yet?”

Scowling, he couldn’t quite look her in the eyes, and didn’t have a good answer. “If you’re blaming me…”

“That wasn’t what I meant. I really appreciate what you've done for him. But he’s been through enough for a dozen lifetimes. _I_ need it to be enough.”

“Yeah…” He scratched his beard. “There’s a limit to what anyone can handle. I dunno how he hasn’t gone pure psycho by now, honestly. He’s got more will than the rest of us combined… or he’s just a lucky sonofabitch.”

“I really wouldn’t call the past few months ‘lucky.'”

“Yeah. Yeah….” He hummed under his breath and handed her his coffee. “I’ll go get Tannis. She can give him a quick once over before he wakes up and freaks out ‘cause she’s poked him fulla needles or some crap.”

He heard Amara’s frustrated huff as he turned, and paused to face her. “Look…I wish I could tell ya the worst was over. The physical part is at least.”

“ _If_ he stays sober this time.” She crossed her arms, worry writ large on her features and in her posture.

“It may not be consolation right now, but I made it because of Brick and Tina and Lil…I had people who loved me whether I wanted it or not, and a baby chick who needed me to survive. It gave me something to get out of bed for every day. He has you and friends who still wanna stick with him, even when he’s a raging psycho asshole. He’ll be okay.”

She finally nodded, but still didn’t look convinced.

“Or we’ll kick his ass. That works wonders, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from a quote attributed to the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., "Only in the darkness can you see the stars."
> 
> Thank you for sticking with the story, and as always for reading! 
> 
> I'm sorry it's been heavy...life got that way, too, and it made its way to the pages. I still have some depths to plumb, but I have some lighter fare planned and partially written, and I'll transfer the angst and torment to my other story for a while...share the dreadful love around a bit.
> 
> Stay safe and well! <3


	20. A Placid Island of Ignorance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of hope in a Lovecraftian getaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the LG&T DLC is only referenced, some aftermath, but I don't need to write it all out. Five-7 did that so well already! :)

Zane wiped his hand across the steamy mirror. Someone had been kind enough to replace it at some point while he’d been gone…or “gone.” It could have been FL4K, but from the state of _their_ room…and clothes…and overall aesthetic…far from what a normal person would consider tidy, he doubted it. He always figured bots would be precise and clean, but apparently they were just as varied in their hygiene as people.

Speaking of hygiene...turning his head from one side to the other, he strongly considered just shaving everything off and starting from scratch. No one would recognize him without a beard… might actually be nice to go incognito for a while… but he had a few scars that the whiskers distracted from and complimented very nicely. And while scars certainly made the assassin, he could do without the curious looks. It could be a hell of a blow to an already fractured ego to be whispered about when it had nothing to do with how handsome or charming or deadly he was.

He sighed and got out the scissors and straight-razor.

When he finally emerged, he felt better than he had in a long while, and looked more like his old self. He decided to keep his hair long for now…it would either add to his dashing good looks, or it would make him look like he was trying too hard. The second he heard whisperings of the latter, he was going to slice it off at the scalp and find a decent barber to fix it after.

Emerging into the darker blue lighting of his room, he rubbed his face vigorously with the towel before tossing it haphazardly on his workbench. Turning to find fresh clothes, he froze with his hand still in an outstretched fling when he realized he wasn’t alone.

“That’s _such_ a nice view…except I can still count your ribs.”

“Thanks, ‘Mara. Way ta make a man all self-conscious.”

She took a couple of steps closer, an extra sway in her movement. “I was thinking of other selfish things, actually.”

“Were ya now.”

“Mmmhmm.” She reached out to trail her fingernails across his shoulder, wincing a little at the scars decorating his skin, but at least this time there weren’t any new self-induced additions. “Now that you’re feeling better, I had an idea that you might like.”

“I like quite a few of your ideas.”

“Hmm. I can see that.” Taking his hand, she walked backwards to his bunk, making sure his eyes were on her. “ _First_ … dessert.”

“I like it so far.”

“I can see that, too.” Sitting, she gently urged him closer. As she locked eyes, she slid her arms around his waist and brushed her lips over his length, hearing his breath quicken. “ _Then_ we’re getting some food in you.”

He groaned, but it was more at the loss of her mouth than at the suggestion of dining. “M‘kay.”

“ _Then_ I’ll share my idea.”

“This… innit it?”

She answered without words.

______________

He settled into a booth across from her instead of at his regular seat at the bar. Unbidden, Moxxi stopped by their table with a thick green concoction for Amara and a fizzy brownish drink for Zane that he eyed suspiciously.

“You’ll like it, sweetie. It’s ginger and vanilla-flavor.”

He grunted, and picked it up. “It’s still bubbling.”

Moxxi rolled her eyes at him and swished away. “It’s soda. Don’t be such a baby.”

Sitting back in the seat, he slung an arm over the back and glanced at Amara. “So what’s this idea?”

“Since we’ve all been invited to Hammerlock’s wedding….”

“Aww… I'm glad he and Winifred finally set a date.”

“Wainright.”

He smirked. “I know. Jakobs doesn’t care, but it’s _always_ worth Alistair’s reaction. I’ll try that one out on him when we get there.”

“You’re such a child.”

“And yet _yer_ the one who seduced me.”

Snorting, she picked up her glass, hiding her smile behind the rim. “Sometimes, I don’t know why I bother.”

“I don’t know why you bother drinking that stuff, either.”

“That wasn’t what I meant. And it’s veggies and fruit. Try it.” She pushed the glass to his side of the table.

Eyeing it warily, he shook his head. “Green is nae a color found in nature.”

“It’s any plant literally _everywhere!_ You have green plants in your room!”

“There's no green on Pandora.” With one finger, he pushed the glass back.

“You’ve been to other planets!” Amara sighed and rubbed her eyes with one hand. “Look…I realize you’re feeling all sassy since you’ve been blown, but…”

“And I _will_ be thanking you for that later.” Flicking his gaze up to an arriving Moze, he chuckled as she abruptly turned on her booted heel and stalked away with a squicky shudder. “ _She’ll_ have nightmares now, but sure, sure. We were talking ‘bout your idea.”

With another sigh, she picked up her glass. “This is crazy… I know this is crazy.” Giving him a look that was impossible to read, she spun her glass in an unusually fidgety manner. “But what would you say if I told you I booked us a room for the event?”

“Uh… thank you? One less thing ta worry over.”

“Together.”

“Oh?”

“For a few extra days after the wedding.”

“Ohhh!”

Frowning, she shook her head. “I can’t tell if that’s a ‘this will be fun’ _oh_ , or a ‘how do I let her down gently’ _oh_.”

“Noooooo….nonono! It’s good! It’s definitely good. It’s not so much an ‘idea’ as a ‘surprise!’ though.” Raising his hands in a demonstration of jazz-hands surprise, he continued, “Little bit of difference there. Little. But I’m good! I’m good. Sooo……..Does this mean I’m your plus one? I’m not usually a plus one. But I can’t say weddings are really my thing. Unless they were mine. And even then. Or unless I hooked up with a bridesmaid. But this one time, I hooked up with a bridesmaid at me own wed…”

“Zane!”

“Hmm?”

“Please do not tell me anything else about your adventures in marriage ever again. _Please_. And thank you.”

“Right, riiight. Sorry. Sorry.”

Moxxi smirked at him as she dropped off their pizza, leaning in closer to murmur, “Zane, sugar…you’re trying too hard not to look nervous.”

“I’m not ner….” He started to protest, but glanced across the table at Amara, before lowering his voice, even though there was no way she couldn’t overhear. “I’m _not_.”

“Mmmhmm. We’ll talk later.”

He scowled at her as she sashayed away. _I’m not. If I’d asked Amara instead of the other way around, would I be nervous? No. Of course not! So this is the exact same thing._ Exactly _the same. Exactly._

Maybe he still had some work to do convincing himself of that.

_____________

They were the first guests to arrive, Hammerlock had said, and as the team ran back and forth through the awful village with a gargantuan frozen monster intertwined with the buildings, Amara was starting to believe even one day early was too early. She kept seeing the slightest shudder from Zane if he stared too long at one of the suckered tentacles, and his initial outburst to the hotel’s proprietor had summed up their feelings about the Lodge for the entire team.

Passing by after check-in, Moze had given them a knowing smirk and a thumbs-up as they unlocked the door to their room… _their_ room, not hers here and his further down the hall. She was disappointed by the dim, sparse room, but her partner had put his hands on his hips and nodded, “At least there aren’t any ratches. Or varkids. Or scythids. Or…”

“ _Bugs_ … just say ‘bugs.’”

He grinned at her in a way that was both reassuring that he still held on to some part of his former good nature and worrisome in its mischievousness. He turned to face her and casually fell backwards, landing on the bed with a perfect bounce. “Since we’re officially pest-free…care to test out the room before we make a formal appearance?”

That had been barely a couple of hours ago. Now she slumped in a defeated posture on a barstool, pointedly refusing to look at the hovering goth bartender/proprietor. Her eyes were on her teammates as they sat together by the fireplace across from Wainright while he writhed in an oversized chair, a fretting Alistair kneeling on the floor nearby. Moze had taken their lost battle with the spectral Eleanor especially hard, and sat miserably with her hands and her head between her knees. Zane rubbed her back with one hand in reassurance as he spoke to their little group.

Amara couldn’t hear what he was saying from where she was, but Mancubus was also watching the little group intently, nodding as if he could hear every word. All Amara could hear was the quiet lilt of Zane’s accent, knowing from his posture and tone that he offered understanding and hope to the rest of the team. It was the first time in a while he’d taken that lead. Her eyes threatened to fill at seeing this side of him again. He wasn’t as boisterous as he had been, and his experiences had taken a lot of the boyish humor from his worldview. But he wasn’t the stone-hearted sociopath he feared he was becoming, either.

“Your husband has quite the way…with words.”

“He’s not my husband.”

“Are you…certain?”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” She stood up, pent-up anger flaring at the creepy proprietor. “I think I’d know if I was married. And so would my publicist!”

“It needs not be official to simply…be.”

“You are weird and deluded, and this conversation is _over_.” Her tattoos had started to crackle with static as she stomped across the room to join her teammates, more disturbed by their host’s words than she should have been, but with their current situation…

Zane’s attention snapped to her as she arrived, and her heart dropped at the sight of his startled expression, but he forced a thin smile and slapped his knees, heaving himself to his feet even before she could tone down the anger-induced lightshow.

“Welp. Looks like we’re ready to go huntin’ evil spirits, then!”

Hammerlock slowly peered up at the gathered team with an equally weak smile and dull tone, but appreciation was clear in his eyes. “Tally ho, vault hunters.”

______________

“Chew! Heel!”

The skag turned his head and snorted, then continued digging at the hollow in the base of the tree, determined to unearth whatever he’d found. Part of the tree trunk was still burning from the incendiary rounds, but he ignored it, dirt and small roots flying from beneath his claws.

Zane glanced around at the bodies smoldering in the clearing as he casually popped new shells into his shotgun. Snapping the barrels together with an upward flick of his wrist, he shouldered the weapon and with an unhurried pace made his way between the wolven corpses toward the beastbot and his disobedient pet.

“Bloodlust still got ‘im?” As many of the critters as they’d just killed, it was a wonder the beasts weren’t on the verge of extinction already. But it was odd that the tame skag wasn’t sated…usually, he was the first to zoom excitedly around like a kid on too much sugar once a fight was over.

Grunting, FL4K grabbed the skag by his collar and hauled him backwards, wondering why the animal refused to obey. Mr. Chew growled and struggled, but finally gave in to his alpha, thumping to the ground with a frustrated ‘whuff’ and flopping his head between his paws.

Curious at all the fuss, Zane glanced into the small hole Chew had widened beneath the roots. Movement caught his eye, and he traded out his shotgun for a close-range pistol. “Oi! Beastman! He mighta had somethin’ here!” Kneeling next to it, he clicked on a penlight, shining it down into the dark space. There was another movement followed by a soft whine. Mr. Chew was on his feet again, head lowered, growling at the tree, but the beastmaster held him in place for now.

Sticking the light between his teeth, Zane knelt down over the small space, reaching his left hand in, figuring that whatever was down there that might try to bite off a finger would get a painful metal mouthful instead.

Whatever _was_ down there was soft and gave slightly. He wrapped his fingers carefully around it, uncovering the limp form of a tiny wolven pup. Twice more, he pulled unmoving bodies from the den, and, heartsick at the sight of the tiny snuffed lives, was ready to give up when he heard the whimper again. Even though these things were going to grow up to be man-eaters, he had a soft spot for young animals…another trait he could credit his twisted brother for introducing after watching the little psychopath killing his pets. Now, if a critter wasn’t actively trying to bite, maim, claw, or spew toxins all over him, he tried to just leave it alone. Except for rodents. And insects. And _birds_. Those could all feck off and die.

With a huff of resolve, he reached in once more and encountered a wriggling mass. Grasping it carefully, he pulled the little creature out and examined it. It seemed relatively unharmed, except for a spot over its eye and across its jaw where fire had licked a bit too close, saved from the worst of their firefight with the adults by being underneath its siblings. The tiny wolven twitched in his hands, paws flailing and swimming in air to try to find something solid to stand on. Its black eyes stared at him as it whimpered.

“Hey, little fella. You’re all alone now, ain’tcha?” Bringing it closer to take a more careful look at the creature, it stopped wriggling, sniffing once… and licked him on the nose. Staring at it in surprise, he blinked, then on an impulse he couldn’t quite explain, he carefully tucked the little creature into the soft material of his outer shirt where it shuffled and snuffled for a minute, whined once, then curled up and went to sleep in the cozy darkness.

He stood up cautiously, hand supporting the little bundle as FL4K peered over his shoulder and Chew paced circles around the operative, sniffing and huffing in irritation. The beastbot glanced at the wolven carnage, their eye whirring as it focused and refocused.

“One of these was the matriarch. The pups appear only a few weeks old.”

“Still old enough to chomp off a digit.”

The bot nodded in agreement. “What will you do with that one?”

“I can’t leave it here ta starve.”

“No?”

“It’s cruel.”

“You could simply put it out of its misery. It may not live, regardless. Or will try to kill you later.” FL4K noted the change in his teammate’s demeanor to an almost protective stance.

“Then I can’t say I didn’t try.”

They were silent for a few long moments, processing that reasoning. When Mr. Chew sat on their foot with another huff, they reached down to pat him on the head, finally nodding in understanding. “I see. Let us return to the lodge. The others will be waiting.”

When the pair pushed open the doors to the Lodge, Amara immediately zeroed in on the operative’s unusual posture, how he placed each step with care and held his jacket closed in an oddly protective way.

“Zane? What’s wrong?” Panic hit her, and she reached out to him, trying to pull his jacket away, fearful of how much blood she was going to find soaked into his shirt, and readying a rant to FL4K for letting him arrive in this condition.

He hissed between his teeth at her hasty approach, pulling away slightly, causing her to scowl, reaching for a hypo to jab in his arm whether he wanted it or not. Realizing he was starting to worry her, he turned and dipped slightly, pulling open the top of his collar to reveal the dark, fuzzy nose poking curiously up from the neck of his shirt.

“Don’t be mad? Me boyo here uncovered a survivor.”

“To be more accurate, our pet found a burned nest after our fight with the pack, and he..." nodding to Zane, "...dug this one out."

Gaige bounced over, glad for the momentary distraction from Wainwright-watching, pigtails flying as she crowded in to view the puff of fur. “Awwwww! Who did you find?” She stuck her hand toward the adorable snout, letting it sniff at her, transitioning into baby talk as she leaned closer. “Izzums a widdle cutie…yes you are! Yes, you… holy FUCKWHATISTHATTHING?” She leapt back as the adorable snout was followed by a dark head that yawned wide enough to nearly crack its head in two and showed off way the hell too many teeth for something that small.

Their creepy host hovered nearby, nodding his unbidden approval. “Saving an injured, orphaned creature. Is it out of a sense of morality and kindness or…guilt?”

Zane stared at him, and only Amara noticed the flicker of a range of expressions across his features before shaking himself and ignoring the question entirely. “So creepyman, what have ya got that wolvey pups eat?”

“They will eat…anything.”

With an irritated grunt, he nodded and grabbed a plate from the bartop that held an oddly shaped burger, greenish fries and an overabundance of ketchup, gently stomping upstairs to their room.

“Hey! That was mine!” Moze stood at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips.

“Order another! Put it on me tab.” He paused briefly at the top. “Thank you, Mozie!”

The little gunner flung her hands up in aggravation.

______________

Amara found herself at the bar again, the only semi-out-of-the-way seat in the entire common room. Even though the proprietor would always and forever give her the willies, she also found his unusual manner was much less frustrating than it had been when they arrived… yesterday? It was hard to believe everything that happened had been only in the last 26-ish or so hours. She and the rest of their team were exhausted, stretched to their limits. Moze was dozing in one of the big chairs by the fire, and Mr. Chew was on his back at her feet, tongue lolling out of the side of his open maw, paws twitching in the air as he happily dreamed.

The party was in full swing, and it looked like most of the town was in attendance. The team had come back from the heart, bloodied and bruised and dragging, to find the Lodge packed with wedding guests. Everyone the newlyweds had invited had showed, and although they were disappointed to miss the wedding vows, they were more than happy to share in the joy of the fireworks display and afterparty.

The team had seen the looks the pair had exchanged when they walked in, knowing they of all people deserved to be alone with each other after their heartbreaking ordeal; but like a good host, Alistair straightened himself up, pulled down the hem of his jacket, and welcomed his guests with a warm smile and grand gesture. Winnie had stepped in before he could get too far into the crowd, turning his husband around and announcing that they would be down to celebrate with everyone AFTER they had a shower and changed out of their bloody attire.

It wasn't entirely necessary. Half the guests were former vault hunters and hadn’t even batted an eye at their disheveled appearance. The attendees probably would have been more concerned had they arrived to find the place in order and everyone sitting around engaging in quiet conversation.

They’d all retreated for as short a time as they could manage… although the siren had discovered that actually sharing one room and bath with her partner was far more time consuming than on Sanctuary…even without counting the spontaneous shower sex.

Zane was mingling, still preening over being asked to officiate the proud couple’s emergency nuptials, but worryingly, had a glass of amber liquid and ice in his hand that he occasionally sipped from. When he finally dropped onto the seat next to hers, he drained the glass and slid it away, and Mancubus quietly replaced it with another full version of the same.

“Zane?”

He picked up the glass and held it out to her to sniff. “Soda. Splash of lime. Keeps people from pressin’ an actual drink in me hand if I look like I already have one.”

She nodded, relieved at his choice and his ingenuity to avoid the temptation. In response, he glanced at the many offerings behind the bar and sighed.

“It’s too bad this shindig wasn’t a few weeks ago, though.”

“You might have missed the entire event, if it had been.”

He winced, but nodded. “Not me best nor brightest moments.” Nodding his head toward the gunner, he broke into a grin. “Might be someone else’s best tonight, though.”

Amara leaned her head on his shoulder as they watched Gaige gently shaking the ex-Vladof soldier awake. Moze blinked up at her, but then grinned and nodded, stepping carefully over the snoring skag as she got up and followed the mechromancer toward the stairs. Once there, she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed them bailing out of the party, her grin faltering as she caught her teammates’ eyes. Both the siren and operative gave her a thumbs up, so she was all smiles again as she took the stairs two at a time to catch up to Gaige.

“I was hopin' they'd get together before this thing was over." Zane smiled at the retreating pair. "Speaking of bailin' out… think that’s about it fer me, too. I wanna check on the pupper, then I’m ready to sleep for a week.”

_______________

None of this retreat had really gone the way Amara had hoped, and the last few days after the celebration finally wound down were just a busy as the pre-event with the team helping clear loose ends, including the personal investigation they had stumbled across while Burton was helping them. So focused on getting their newlyweds reunited and safe, they’d put off everything else and now were paying for that, too. As far as the siren was concerned, this planet could just stay a forgotten frozen wasteland…she was never coming back after tonight's final stay. _One star. For your sanity, do not recommend._

She’d lost track of Zane after he’d come back to the Lodge with a dispirited Burton in tow. They spoke quietly in the corner of the common room, and if she hadn’t known better, it looked like the amnesiac detective was weeping. Burton suddenly embraced the operative in a tight bear hug, stepping back just as quickly as he’d started, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He took a seat at a lonely table, and Zane nodded, patting him gently on the shoulder before walking towards the bar.

Glancing to Amara, she could see the stress in his eyes as he gestured to Mancubus, sliding a credit chip across the bar. “Keep me tab goin', Manny.” Nodding towards the detective who had his head down on his arms, hiding his face against the tabletop. “Burt drinks on me, however long he thinks he needs to.” Shoving off from the conversation, he spared her another quick look before she could ask, shaking his head as he pushed the heavy door open. “I’ll tell ya later. I need ta sort it out first.”

She’d occupied herself by taking the other exit and wandering the town, killing off any remaining entities that dared to pop up until she was bored with how easy it was to kill them now that there weren’t swarms of them portaling in from every direction. Looking forward to a long, soaking bath to ease the tension, she was surprised to find Zane already there, dejectedly laying on his stomach in the middle of the bed while a ball of black and grey maned fluff snuffed around the room in exploration. It looked up when she came in, showed her its many sharp teeth in a warning growl, then went right back to what it had been doing.

She sat on the edge of the bed, reaching over to run her painted fingernail through his loose silver locks. “What happened with Burton? I thought you said he was on to something with his past.”

The operative sighed and rolled onto his side, reaching out to pull her closer to he could curl around her and rest his head on her thigh. “We were. We did. He remembers everythin’ that happened to him and why he lost his mem’ries in the first place.”

“Not a curse?”

“No.” Quietly, he told her what they’d found, the little ghost, and the return of the detective’s memories. But after explaining the last few days’ events, much to her surprise, he kept talking…this time about his own memories, his first wife, their hopes, and the tragic end.

“Oh, Zane…I'm so sorry... and if we’d had any idea about Briggs _…” I would have spared you from that, if I could._ But she also understood so much more about the hitman and the almost fathomless depths of his emotional scars and bonds. With a fingertip, she gently wiped away the silent tears from where they had pooled near the bridge of his nose, and stroked her nails gently against his scalp until he drifted into an emotionally exhausted sleep.

When his breathing evened out, she carefully extracted herself from his arms, tiptoeing to quickly shower instead of soaking like she’d originally intended. By the time she’d come back, the wolven pup was sleeping against his chest in a ball of fur so tight she couldn’t see its head or feet. Zane’s arm was protectively around it, and both were snoring softly.

She debated going back downstairs and letting them sleep without disturbing them, but slowly eased in behind him in a big spoon, throwing her arm over his chest and inhaling deeply against his warm back. He hummed and stirred slightly, murmuring under his breath before drifting off again.

Smiling, she nuzzled closer. “Mmm… me too.” Belated recognition made her freeze against him, eyes snapping open and suddenly very, very awake.

 _Wait…_ what _did he just say??_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn't copy the DLC idea from my other fav author! I spent a long time debating on what order to write the next few chapters... DLCs were all played in order as they came out, but for this story, some things work out better if they're not experienced by these vaulties in that particular order.
> 
> I did one 'fix-it' in this. It seemed such a shame that everyone Hammerlock knows didn't show up for the shindig. I understand how ridiculously difficult it would have been to do in the game, but since I've already mangled canon for this story, I can do it how I want. And you can't stop me! Mwahahahaha! :D :P
> 
> Title quote: “We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”  
> ― H. P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu


	21. Inbetween Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does 'normal' look like, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final(!!!) edits made to this chapter, because 4:00 a.m. posting (see end notes)! Removed some stuff that broke up the flow and was intended as background for me for later (nothing spoilery, thank goodness!). Also added a bit more to the fight scene, because drama! And softened one section because of a comment, and I can completely see how my intent didn't make it to the actual words on the page.
> 
> I seriously need someone to read these things for me before I post in a sleep-starved delerium.

“Drop it!!”

The beastmaster’s skag was nearly on his belly, scooting backwards to avoid a very pissed off operative…even though the alpha’s voice cracked at the end in an almost frantic tone.

“Chew! Drop. It. Now!” Zane stalked forward, fear and fury etched in equal lines across his brow. The skag didn’t have anywhere else to back up, bumping butt-first into the common room table with a whimper. With the angry hitman looming over him and the vocal tone quickly switching from ‘please’ to ‘I-will-use-your-intestines-for-jumprope,’ Mr. Chew reluctantly lowered his head and opened his maw, dropping a sopping wet and very confused wolven pup onto the floor in a puddle of sticky saliva.

Zane snatched the dripping pup by the scruff, leaning over the skag with a snarl. “Bad skag! Bad bad bad!” He pointed at at Chew, then at the pup. “ _Not_ food!” The skag whined and dropped to the floor in a sulk. With a slightly softer tone, still holding the stunned and squirming pup aloft, he sighed, “Grim’s gonna be bigger’n you one o’ these days, so I’d play nice.”

“Is that what you finally decided on? Grim?” FL4K stood behind the operative, arms crossed and giving their pet an unhappy glare. "'Morsel' might be more fitting."

"I hope yer makin' a joke, beastbot." Although he couldn't help a chuckle at the state of the animal, Zane clutched the little wolven protectively against his chest, goo and all. “Not much of a frolicker yet, this one.” The critter nuzzled into the crook of his arm as he headed back to his room. “Just look at the state o' ya! Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Moxxi wants to see us about a job.”

“Be there in a bit.”

Reluctant to let the critter loose on his own at such a young age, he and FL4K had put their heads together to discuss collars, pens, or leashes to keep the pup from wandering into unsafe places on the ship, but ultimately had decided against most of them. The animal tended to sleep for most of the day and stayed close at the operative’s heels the rest of the time, so they’d rigged up a sling for carrying the critter and keeping it close without worrying about where it might have wandered off. That was all this leaky tub needed... a puppy getting stuck in the ducts. Zane started carrying a leash in a pocket anyway, just in case.

Otherwise, he was proud that he’d gotten through the past week with a new record low of just _three_ panic attacks for no reason… and only one of those was sex-induced. Amara had stayed right where she was because he held her too tightly to move away, coaxing him to breathe, to focus on her and not what was in his head. She never once told him it would ‘be okay’ because in the grip of panic, there was no 'okay'…she was just there, soothing and calming with her presence and bringing him back to her with soft words and infinite patience.

When she wasn't by his side, ready to ease him out of a mood, the pup was. It was true when he told FL4K that the pup wasn't much for playing and bouncing happily about like Mr. Chew, but it didn't show signs of being unhappy, either. It seemed to have a sense that Zane needed it just as much as it needed him. When it wasn't sleeping next to him on his workbench or at his feet, it followed close enough that the operative had to always be careful where he stepped lest he step on or fall over the little ball of fuzz.

In between, his siren partner had started to teach him meditation in earnest, even though he knew it was an exercise in frustration for her. It was hard enough to keep his brain still for ten seconds, much less ten minutes…but he was starting to unwind a little more each time, and she had the patience of a saint. Most of the time. 

What she hadn’t been able to do was convince him to exercise with her in the mornings, no matter how much she begged, cajoled, threatened, or bribed. In a compromise of heroic proportions, he did agree to a less stressful zen practice with Zer0 in the spacious cargo hold. Much to Amara's relief, it had become a weekly ritual that the operative actually looked forward to...like the B-team's weekend B&B games, which she still didn't understand the appeal of...but seemed to make him happy, at least for a little while.

Practicing in the open hold invariably drew a silent and appreciative audience. Some came for the hypnotic grace of the sword-centered katas as the two assassins moved in graceful tandem. Some watched for the rare thrill of seeing two masters of death showing off their skills. And, which Amara found most often sparked a wave of jealousy, both male and female crew showed up for nothing more than a view of the lean, silver-haired operative, who stripped out of his layers of leather and armor and practiced barefoot and bare-chested. But today, she was an admirer as well, sitting at the foot of the steps and gently scratching her nails over Grim's ears as the pup snoozed in blissful oblivion next to her.

The crowd of onlookers was bigger than usual and had grown even more as word spread that the former assassins had squared off after their warm-up. Zer0 had offered to spar with the operative, which they normally didn't do…and how could he _possibly_ refuse something like that? Professional curiosity was always an undercurrent, and an opportunity to find out who would win in a one-on-one was too good to pass up.

The catwalk and stairs above the bay were packed with crew and citizens, and some of them were passing bets over each others' heads. Somehow, FL4K and Moze had become the unofficial bookies, and although Moze wasn’t thrilled with her impromptu role, she used her helmet to hold cash, coin, and whatever other valuables were being offered up while the AI kept a running tally. Once an Edenian citizen dropped a necklace of teeth into her hand, she shook her head and shoved it back at him, declaring the betting at an end.

Initially, there had been a crowd of gawkers on deck as well, but Zer0 had warned them back…they were using live steel, after all. Not all of them had taken the warning seriously, until Zane jumped up on a stack of crates and gave a sharp whistle.

“Oi! Ya suicidal bastards on th’ floor…clear out, ‘cause I can’t promise once th’ bleedin’ starts that the Flynt side won’t mistake ya for someone who needs killin’!”

That had cleared the last lingerers. Sometimes it was worth it to have a reputation. _Sometimes_.

The duo circled each other on the empty bay floor. There was no signal, no discussion of rules…although it was generally understood that they wouldn’t actively murder each other, but they both knew the risks. Neither wore a shield, but both of them kept one gadget each. 

The difference in their styles was evident even before the fight began. Zer0 stalked around the perimeter, his blade held low, the tip nearly touching the ground, catlike in his motions. Zane was all show…twirling his katana with a flourish, trading hands, every step a dance. To a novice, it was both entertaining and intimidating in equal measure, showing how sure he was with a blade in his hand that he could juggle it without slicing himself open. To an experienced eye, it was a limbering warm-up and a distraction...the polished blade singing constantly through the air until he used the same motion to spring into an attack, coming in low with a blow that was designed to overbalance his opponent.

Zer0 wasn’t a normal opponent, leapfrogging over the operative and, once behind him, swinging upward from his low-held stance. Unphased, Zane spun on his toes, catching the incoming blow with the clang of steel on steel. Both of them cautiously stepped away from each other, circling again and eyeing each other almost casually. Zane was grinning when the alien flashed a wink on his faceplate, and with one quick step forward by each of them, they’d clashed again.

The spar started as most people expected, a swashbuckling, flashy show of steel singing against steel, each of them showing off with exaggerated steps and semi-telegraphed blows, jumping over and on top of crates, spinning and taunting each other with good natured one-liners and mocking prose.

"Didn't anyone teach you how to fight?!"

"Sorry, did that hurt?/That 'sorry' was sarcasm./I am not sorry."

The crowd slowly grew quieter, watching in growing awe at a struggle between men who looked death in the eye every day. This was no choreographed display, no blind violence of a bandit, nor tactical military strikes. Blood had started to trickle on both sides as the fight progressed into a much more serious display, each professional now testing the other to the limits.

Strikes became faster than most of the onlookers could process, and the opponents were clashing, ducking, and locking blades to shove and struggle with each other for an advantage. Banter had ceased long ago, and very few strikes were at arm’s length anymore, each trying to get under the other’s guard for a slashing attack across a vital vein or a deep cut that would sever tendons or deal a crippling gash in muscle. Each of them had taken elbows to the face or body, stepped on toes, collided knees and shins. Zane's nose was bleeding into his mustache and beard, and the Atlas operative's faceplace was cracked on the side.

Taking a different tack, Zane dropped into a ready crouch and activated his clone with a flash of blue pixels. Materializing without a gun, the blue devil looked at its empty hands in confusion, but it wasn’t meant to attack, merely distract. Zer0 ignored it and went for the real thing…except the operative wasn’t there anymore, only sparks where a blade met the deck after cutting through empty air. Barely turning in time to block the incoming attack from behind, the Atlas operative pulled the same trick, teleporting away and leaving a digital afterimage in his wake.

It was quickly becoming impossible for the onlookers to follow the action. As soon as it seemed like the fight was slowing down, afterimages of where the assassins had been were all that was left. The only way to keep track was to listen to the grunts or curses and try to follow the unrelenting sound of metal striking metal.

Amara clung to the railing with one hand, unconsciously scooping the pup up with the other, warring with whether she should be worried…whether Zane would be able to hold on to his bloodthirsty, batshit crazy side in a fight this intense. She didn't usually get the opportunity to sit back and watch him fight without distraction...normally they were all under fire at the same time. Here, though...the former hitmen _were_ experienced, _professional_ adults...who happened to be trying to kill each other in Sanctuary’s cargo bay.

The onlookers seemed to be holding their collective breaths, leaning forward on the railing so hard the metal groaned under the strain.

 _What happens if he snaps?_ It was one thing out in the field, surrounded by bandits, but these two knew each other. Zer0 was pushing him to his limits. The team had been reluctant to spar with their teammate in case something they did during a fight flipped that switch. _What happens if he kills his friend? How do we stop him if he loses control in a room full of non-combatants?_

She didn't have to worry...this time.

Zane dropped to one knee, so entangled with the Atlas hitman that it dragged them both down to the floor. He rolled them so he ended up on top, a knee on Zer0’s chest, blade poised to shear across the vein in his opponents throat with only a flick of his wrist. He was panting, sweat dripping from his nose and beard onto Zer0’s faceplate.

“Gotcha.”

The only response was an emoji with a wicked grin, and the operative glanced down to the blade resting against his groin, ready to slice open a major artery…any parts severed in a finishing cut would not be the main source of his worries in the few seconds he’d have left afterwards.

“Aaaand, you got me.” He nervously grinned, trying not to move…just in case, preferring his dangly bits intact, thank you very much.

“Now we know, my friend./Let’s avoid these battles now./Save death for others.”

“So _very_ much agreed.”

The audience let out a collective breath, and Moze slumped dramatically over the rail, shoving her helmet into FL4k’s hands to take care of the payouts. “Ugh! My heart can’t take this… and I swallowed my gum.”

Both of the former killers-for-hire carefully withdrew, but neither of them got up from the floor; Zane rocked back on his heels to thump on the floor, wheezing to catch his breath once the adrenaline started to wear off. Zer0 stayed on where he’d fallen, arms outstretched in an exhausted pose, both becoming aware of the dozens of little and not-so-little cuts they’d inflicted on each other.

Grim struggled out of Amara's grasp as soon as she was aware that she was holding it too tightly, running as fast as its little legs would carry it, stopping only to snuff at Zane to make sure he was still there, then pouncing almost catlike onto Zer0's arm and attacked with a growl, tiny sharp teeth sinking into the black material and piercing skin beneath. 

"!!!" They shot upright, holding out an arm, the pup dangling from where it had firmly clamped onto skin and muscle. "Ow!"

"Grim! Down, boy!" The operative crawled over and carefully pried the pup off. As soon as it was in Zane's hands, it went still, growling low, but submitting to the end of the skirmish. Cautiously, he sat the pup down on the deck, where it started preening as if it had just felled a dangerous foe in battle. 

"Remind me next time/not to piss off your puppy./Teeth are like needles," Zer0 groused as he rubbed his arm.

Amara grabbed her partner by the arm and hauled him to his feet. “Come on. Grab your attack mutt and let’s get you healed and cleaned up. I don’t think you need any more scars.” Leading him out past the accolades and ‘holy shit, did you SEE that’s?’ of the lingering onlookers, she smiled to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nearly 5 a.m. and I have been wired awake since 1:30, so I don't even care what mistakes are in this chapter right now. O.o
> 
> I made a rather serious error in the way Amara is perceived/portrayed and I very much appreciate the feedback. I needed that wake up, and hopefully fixed it somewhat by a modification to one of the descriptions/paragraphs.
> 
> My intent in the relationship part of the story isn't to gloss over Zane's trauma or force it in any direction, and I definitely don't want to give the impression that Amara is forcing him into anything, especially after what he's been through. I see everything in their orbit going at his pace, and even so, mistakes will be made. Lots and lots of mistakes and missteps and hurt feelings and more pain. Things get worse, then better, then worse again before another small step forward can be gained.
> 
> But it also doesn't erase the feelings they had been developing or the friendship they had...or necessarily how they view each other. As skittish as he is around sirens, he also knows she wasn't the source of it, and he's trusted her with his life more times than either of them can count. Him being raped doesn't remove his natural handsomeness, although he's already been down the road of trying to cope by making himself unattractive. Tamara never struck me as the kind of person that would force her will on anyone else, but at the same time, it doesn't feel like she would just flip a switch and turn off her feelings either. Like anyone, she may get turned on by things that feel twisted and wrong, but it doesn't mean we don't feel them anyway. It's how we/she acts on it that matters most.
> 
> Love does not conquer all, but humans are messy beasts, and we remember the good, and the attraction, and the joy we can have with another human, so I never want it to feel like Amara no longer finds him appealing in any way. After suffering, even when it's triggering, he needs that comfort and knowledge that someone sees him and wants him despite it all...and even when it's sexual, that he's much more than simply an object to be used, and I've actually been there. This would be a massively different fic if it was otherwise. 
> 
> If it ever reads like forced lust is all they're relying on, I screwed up and I need to be smacked. Lust *is* there...because messy humans...but isn't the focus. I also don't want it to feel like he's gone from a life of carefree promiscuity (which has its own problems), to complete shutdown celibacy, because that doesn't feel right, either. 
> 
> I should probably just make that into a chapter on its own, but since I'm not sleeping again, this will only circle obsessively in my head if I don't explain now.
> 
> So thank you for sticking with me here, and for helping shape this into a (hopefully) better story. <3


	22. Worship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Deathbringer is here!”
> 
> "Ohhh no! Nonononono.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Appreciate the patience in the way-too-long break from posting. Between busy season at work and trying to write a novel in a month, there hasn't been much time for anything else. My inner Zane is therefore, very, very upset with me, and is taking it out on everyone in the chapter after this one. :p
> 
> So enjoy a slightly more feel-good chapter in the meantime...

Amara stopped in the entrance to Moxxi’s, completely stunned by the sight in front of her. Zane sat at the bar with Axton…neither of them was yelling at the other, and Zane was drinking… something. It was clear, but that didn’t mean a lot. She hoped it was water, because he was in trouble otherwise. For that matter, Axton was already in trouble because she didn't even know he was anywhere near Sanctuary, much less dropping by.

“Axton!”

“Marble!” The commando stood up, arms extended like he was going to give her a big hug, but she stepped back, holding up a finger in warning.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming to visit.”

“Yeah… uh… Zane invited me.”

“He did??”

“Believe me, I was just as surprised as you. I figured he either added a few extra zeros to the price on my head or was looking to collect it. Or both.”

“But you came anyway?”

“Curiosity got the better of me.”

She peered around him at Zane, who was swirling his glass around, clinking the ice against the sides of the glass. He drained it, sat it on the bar, and Moxxi immediately replaced it, giving the siren a smile and a reassuring nod. She had to trust that Moxxi was keeping him on the sober path as well. He didn’t look tipsy, but she knew how much the old man could put away before he even started slurring his words.

He caught her staring at him and slid off the barstool, drink in hand, sauntering casually across the short distance, thrusting the glass in her direction.

She took it from him with a smile and took a long swig from it, ice bumping against her top lip. Water. Plain water. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she offered it back to him, but he shook his head.

“If I drink any more, I’m gonna be pissin’ all night.”

“Charming. It’s good for you.”

“I should _hope_ pissin’ is good for something.”

She rolled her eyes, and looked up at Axton. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

He raised his hands and backed away, shaking his head. “Oh, no. I’m not in the middle of this. You picked him, Marble. Not me.”

“Yer just jealous, boyo.”

“No… I just don’t want to get hit again.”

Zane clapped him on the shoulder before swaggering out into the corridor. “Whenever you’re ready, then. You two can catch up. I’ll see you at the table.”

“Yeah. Later.”

Amara just stared at him. “Do I want to know what you’re up to?”

“Um…”

“Axton…?”

“We might be heading over to play B&B with Tina and Brick… then maybe shoot some bandits. You know… for shits and giggles.”

“I swear I don’t know what you boys see in that…but it’s got him off the ship and out of trouble every week.”

“We might also be going to the old Flynt place for said bandit shooting.”

“What? Why?”

“Mordecai said he’d been hearing about some activity out that way, and Zane said he didn’t want any new bandit clans thinking they could have the run of the place.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t just go off on his own and do it.”

“That… actually surprised me, too. Didn’t really sound like the Zane we all know and love.”

Moxxi came from around the bar to take their empty glasses, giving Axton a quick peck on the cheek. “Honestly, sugar, I don’t think any of us really know him. He’s more of an enigma now than he ever was before.”

The commando gave Amara a confused look, but she just shrugged.

“Seriously? You’re his partner. You practically live with him.”

She sighed softly. “I know. Still… she’s not wrong.”

___________

There was no travel station near the Flynt property, so it was drive or hike, and neither one was short. Zane was in the driver’s seat, but slugged down a thermos cap full of coffee every time one was handed in his direction. Grim stuck his nose in between the front seats each time, tongue darting out as it tried to tip the cup with his nose to get a taste.

“I feckin’ hate mornings. Whose idea was this?”

“Yours, _amigo_.” Mordecai laughed from the back seat, taking the cup back and screwing it back on the thermos.

“No, I mean whose idea was it to play until the break of dawn?”

“Yours, brother.” Axton’s contribution had Mordecai reaching forward to bump knuckles with the blonde commando, both of them snickering.

“Punch me if I do that shite again.”

“At least you’re not hungover on top of it, right? There’s something to be happy about!” The birdman chirped from the back seat.

Zane mumbled something under his breath, scowling at the non-existent road.

“Oh… speaking of punching,” Axton leaned against the passenger door, elbow propped on the open frame. “I heard talk on Sanctuary that you and Zer0 got into a brawl.”

He scowled more. “Didja now? Wasn’t a brawl, fer feck’s sake. We squared off like two grown assassins.”

“Dude…”

“Doncha start, boyo. It was a fair fight until it wasn’t.”

“Are you accusing Zer0 of cheating?” Axton sounded offended by the very possibility, but Zane snorted, the edge of a smile creeping up on his lips.

“Zer0 uses… let’s call ‘em ‘creative options.’”

“You’re saying he cheated.”

“No. We _both_ have questionable methods. Nature o’ the business. You can’t play dirty, you don’t survive long. ‘Sides, we worked together fer a time. I know his tricks, he knows mine.”

“You never squared off before?”

“Why would we?”

“Professional curiosity?”

He shrugged. “Never had an opportunity, I s’pose. Then we went our separate ways, and I dinnae see him again till we met up with Atlas earlier this year.” Which felt like a dozen lifetimes ago.

“So who won?” Mordecai piped up from behind him. Grim was laying on his back in the seat next to him, all four feet up in the air, head lolled back while the hunter idly scratched his belly with one hand.

He smirked, gaze flicking up to the rearview mirror. “What’d ya hear?”

The commando gave him a curious look, one brow raised as he tried to read their companion, “That’s the funny thing… Zer0 just flashed a winky-smiley face and didn’t say anything. Scuttlebutt around the ship says that if it had been anyone else in there with either of you, they would have died a dozen times over. And with all your fancy flashing around,” he wiggled his fingers to emphasize just what he thought of the digital trickery, “no one got a good view. Just a lot of sparks and blood and cursing.”

“Then there’s yer answer.” Zane gave him a crooked smile, and turned his attention back to the drive, tripping the booster as they came up over a rise, nothing but air under their wheels before smashing back down to the desert sand with a bone-rattling crunch. Tires slid in the loose sand, but a nimble twist of the wheel settled the technical back into a straight line. Zane kept a heavy foot on the gas, grinning like a madman and triggering the boost every time it came back online. By the time they’d reached the edge of the wastes, they were all whooping and laughing.

Zane’s laughter died as the crested the next ridge, and he let his foot slip off the pedal, the technical rolling slowly forward with its own momentum as he leaned over the steering wheel, peering narrow-eyed at the land stretched out in front of them. The wolven pup immediately noticed his change in mood, sticking his snout between the seats and giving a low growl.

“The feck is _this_ now?”

They rolled to a stop once over the featureless dune, and Axton honestly wondered how anyone could find their way around on this god-forsaken planet. Their old team had gotten lost more often than they cared to admit, and without Zer0’s impeccable sense of direction, they probably would have died of thirst somewhere in the wastes and saved Jack the trouble of having to hunt them down.

A dense makeshift camp had sprung up around the old Flynt homestead, with even more offerings and burning candles piled against the fence than the last time they were here. Zane frowned and eased the technical forward, stopping near the gate…although it was more like an opening where the fence had given up rather than an actual gate… and they all piled out.

The people from the camp who had taken up residence had started to gather around even as they had crested the dune, whispers running among them. Axton and Mordecai put themselves between the gathering crowd and the property, warily eyeing the advancing bandits, even though none of them had made menacing gestures and no one seemed to be brandishing weapons or screaming incoherent nonsense at them.

Zane had his back to the gathering throng, hands on his hips, examining the signs and notes, bottles of whiskey, guns and trinkets that people had left here, trying to remember how much of this had been here before. All he could really recall was the booze and a lot of misery. The four-legged ball of fuzz that followed his every step was snuffling and sniffing around the offerings, and on finding a treasure of skag jerky, dragged it out and plunked down at his master’s feet, gnawing contentedly. 

“The Deathbringer is here!”

At the shout, Zane spun, fingers twitching toward his gun, and onlookers started dropping to their knees, heads bowed in reverence. Murmurs stuttered through the crowd, “Deathbringer…” and as it passed from person to person, they all started to prostrate themselves in a wave from front to back.

“Ohhh no! Nonononono.” He darted around Axton and dragged one of the worshippers to their feet. “I ain’t some feckin’ deity!”

“But…you’re…you’re… the _Deathbringer_.”

“I’m a washed-up hitman and vault thhhh….hunter.” He’d very nearly called himself a vault thief, having heard it so many times that it sounded more natural than ‘hunter.’ “I’m not a god, I’m not a warlord, and I’m _not_ gonna be worshipped by you. Or anyone!” Shaking the hapless Pandoran roughly by the arm, his anger built with every word. It was almost too bad… a few years ago, this might have stoked his ego to the breaking point, and now that all these people were kneeling before him, he could see how seductive that kind of power might be…how seductive it _was_. He understood for the first time why the Calypsos had encouraged it.

He refused to be them. Or a typical Flynt either, at least to that degree. He shoved the man back into the cluster of penitents, who caught him as he stumbled into them. “Get off me property. All of ya!”

“But…” A woman stood up, head bowed and hands clasped together, unable to meet his gaze. “This place is sacred ground. It’s safe from the remains of the CoV and the other bandit clans won’t come near.”

“This is a rusted out house on a cursed piece a land. It ain’t sacred, and it sure as feck hasn’t ever been safe. There’s been too much blood spilled here.”

“No one else dares to come here.”

“Fer good reason. You shouldn’t either… get out.” He turned away, but Mordecai put a hand on his chest, stopping him in his path. Before he could turn his anger onto the smaller man, Mordecai pointed behind him.

“Look at them, _amigo_. Really look at who these people are.”

With a derisive grunt, he turned, finally taking a good look at the people gathered around…they weren’t bandits, weren’t fanatics. Sure, they were dressed in whatever makeshift armor or clothing they had, and their few (holstered) weapons were in equally varied states of working order, many duct-taped together or barely holding with spit and hope…but there were couples and elderly and children. _Families_ had chosen to come here, not drawn in with the usual lies and false promises and demands of a cult, but drawn to someone who had survived an extended encounter with the Calypsos that would have killed anyone else…and who had helped rid the planet of that particular scourge with his fellow vault hunters.

He blinked a few times, and walked over to the man he’d thrown to the ground. The blonde flinched back, expecting more abuse, but Zane held out his hand.

“I…uh… Sorry there, boyo. Let me temper get the best of me.” Cautiously, the man took his offered hand and Zane helped him up and brushed him off. He felt a tugging at the hem of his jacket, and he looked down to find a little girl with the man's same shade of blonde hair staring up at him.

“Are you gonna hurt my pa?” If that wasn’t a slap in the face, nothing was. He glanced over at the man who looked like he wanted to scoop up his little girl and run…but Zane shook his head and knelt down to her level.

“No, sweetie. I didn’t mean to. Only people that ever came around here before were bandits and murderers and bad people.”

“We’re not bad. My brother was, though. He hurt my dolly.” She held it out to him, showing him a miserable-looking rag doll with one eye missing.

“Did he now?” He reached out and gently took the doll, looking it over. Aware of the concerned murmurs from the nearest settlers, he sat back on his heels, fishing in a pocket of his jacket until he found a spare receiver chip he carried for fixing Zoomer on the fly. He turned it so it was oblong, pressing the small black chip into place where the doll’s eye should have been, then bending the pins under the cloth with his fingernail so it would stay in place.

“There ya go, sweetie. Now she has an even better eye,” he handed it back to her, tapping his patch with his metal finger, “just like mine.”

She took her toy, looking up at him with big brown eyes, then hugged him tightly before running back to her stunned father.

Murmurs went up around the camp, whispers spreading like wildfire, then cheers…and he belatedly realized there was more than one brand of worship, and there was probably no stopping this one now. He stood up and turned to his fellow ex-vault hunters.

“Shite… did I just screw this up?”

Axton blinked, looking at him askance. “What? _How?_ This is a good thing.”

“This is how it starts… first there was Baron and his Bandit King idiocy …then Captain with his ship and FleshRippers, then Sparky’s… ugh…” he rolled his eye in distain, “ _Clubhouse_. Lynchwood. Old Haven. Opportunity. Carni-fuckin’-vora. Pandora is just one big set-up for cultists and bandit clans. I don’t want to start that. I left so I wouldn’t end up that way.”

“I don’t think it’s the same.”

“Yeah… but it starts out some well-meanin’ effort and becomes… what? Murder and chaos…innocent civilians caught in th’ middle, just tryin’ to survive this god-forsaken planet.”

“ _Amigo_ …”

“Maybe I should just burn it down and slag it into oblivion…”

“Zane!”

“What?”

“Just the fact that you’re talking about it means you’re not going to go down that road. Look at them…” Mordecai gestured to the families still milling around uncertainly. “Do they look like marauders or killers or cult-worshiping psychos?”

“No.”

“Exactly. Now breathe and go help them like you _want_ to. We’re right behind you.”


	23. Lady Luck is a Fickle Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team finally takes up Moxxi's request to Ocean's Eleven a casino.

It wasn’t hard to read how irritated Moxxi was, and not just at her former lover and partner, but at how long it had taken them to get around to her little side project. She clipped her words, and the team exchanged looks when she slipped into a longer drawl without seeming to notice she’d done it. It was easy to forget she was a native Pandoran sometimes, with her cultivated air of cultured sex and aloof allure.

Zane knew better. Hell, the entire team knew better, but it just made her that much more interesting and that much more real, not just some paper doll fantasy come to life. They all had their secrets…but the one Moxxi described in her plan was especially intriguing.

“Always knew Jackie had somethin’ else up his sleeve. I’d heard about it, but never visited.”

By the time it had opened, he and Jack had already parted ways, and in one last effort to get him back on the payroll, the Hyperion CEO had offered him a permanent high-roller suite in the casino. Already having more than one bounty on his head, Zane had declined. That kind of unfiltered crowd was far too dangerous to have near a permanent residence. It was one thing to visit and entirely another to announce to the universe exactly where you might be holed up at any given time. Despite the high levels of security, there was no way he trusted Jack to either watch his back or not turn on him at a later date. For all he knew, it could have been a way to keep him close, easier to eliminate when the time came.

After that particular discussion, the operative didn’t dare set foot in the Jackpot, figuring that his shuttle would be blasted out of the sky as soon as it was identified. Or that Jack would initially allow him in so he could die from some overly excessive and elaborate booby-trap in the specially set-aside high-roller suite. So, he had to admit he was curious to see the place, even after it had been sealed up for so long that it had to be nothing more than an automated tomb.

“He was a thieving bastard. This casino is rightfully mine…and you’re going to help me get it back.”

Grinning, Zane decided that this gig might actually be fun, and a much-needed break from the day-to-day stresses and reminders of how far he’d fallen.

A few days later, as they were rocketing toward the casino, crushed together with all their gear and two anxious, high-strung wild animals…he was wondering if this might not have been such a great idea. He’d considered leaving Grim with B-team instead, but considering how long they might be gone, he’d expressed his concerns about boarding him anywhere. Of course, FL4K agreed immediately, Amara understood his need to have the beast with him, but Moze had taken some convincing and had shot him ugly looks through the entire drop as she took the brunt of the jostling and banging into a nervously drooling Mr. Chew or a snarling Grim, depending on which way the dropship adjusted its trajectory.

Moxxi had warned them that the casino lockdown only went one way; once they were onboard, that would be it until they had succeeded, trapped inside and cut off from the galaxy-wide travel systems… and why it had taken so long to get here in the first place.

Jack had been a narcissistic, sadistic stain in life, and the casino was a testament that he was still making people bow to his depravity, even in death. For the thousandth time, Zane wished he’d had the foresight to put a bullet in the man’s brain as the signature to his resignation.

The job had started bothering him more and more before they arrived…an itch in the back of his mind without a solid reason why they should walk away from the gig. Sure, Jack was completely out of his mind, but what reason could he possibly have to locking down an entire casino? Even having a decent insight into the criminally insane…coming from a long line of them himself…there was simply no reason. He didn’t buy into Moxxi’s explanation of “If Jack couldn’t have it, neither could anyone else.” Even a notorious distain for all other life didn’t warrant this. If Jack really didn’t want anyone else to have it, why not just blow the station into shrapnel and let it vanish into the nearby black hole? That would have been his first suggestion of how to deal with the casino if Moxxi hadn’t been so desperate to get her hands on it as one final middle finger to Jack’s failed machinations. If this job had been offered back when he was still a lone operative, as soon as that itch started, he would have walked away.

After landing safely…and for once, smoothly…and not being blown out of the sky on their way in, the team made their way from the docking bay and into the casino itself, greeted by dozens of golden statues of the Hyperion dictator and apathetic bots going about their never-ending, preprogrammed duties.

Zane breathed in the stale air, coughed once, then spread his arms wide as they reached the red carpet and stepped into the degrading opulence of the casino. “Now this… _this_ is my element.”

“Stale sweat, clogged pipes, and desperation?” Moze taunted.

“Har har.”

They watched the operative glide down the rows from one glowing slot machine to the next, flicking levers, pushing buttons, and moving on without stopping to pick up the piles of tokens or gear spilling out of one machine after the other. The gunner’s mouth dropped open in silent disbelief.

“Places like this? They’re where Lady Luck loves me the most.” He bumped the next machine with his hip and it clanged once, threw off an abused spark or two, then spilled its entire contents on the floor.

“That is NOT possible! They’re rigged. Or broken. Right?”

“Jack didn’t let go of his money without a fight. They’re rigged to _not_ pay.” Moxxi sounded like she was trying not to chuckle over the static of the ECHO link. “Just pay enough tokens to keep patrons hooked and spending far more than they could ever hope to win. The house always wins, and debt means you can’t afford to leave.”

“An unending flow of indentured labor,” sighed Amara, scowling at the gaudy, leering statues.

“Stop!” Pointing at Zane, Moze darted in front of him and pushed the button on the next machine in the row, looking at him with a ‘so there!’ smirk. The rollers spun, stopping one by one on a random mix of symbols as her smug expression fell. She pushed the button harder and it spun and fell silent again. Smashing her palm on the button drew sparks, a squeal of protest from the machine… and another completely random, non-winning row.

With a wicked smirk, his eyes never leaving hers, he reached across the space with a theatric flourish and pushed the button oh-so-delicately with the tip of his finger. It immediately clanged with an ear-splitting saxon wail, dropped a garish neon “JACKPOT!” sign that began flashing furiously overhead, and spilled out tokens faster than she could jump away from the cascade.

“ARGH!! HOW????” She threw her hands up in the air and stomped away, randomly smashing her fist on buttons down the row of silent machines. The very last machine in the row finally gave a cheerful *ding*…and payed out exactly one token.

Amara was doubled over in silent laughter, tears in her eyes, and even FL4K had an amused posture. “You _are_ quite certain you are not cheating?”

“I only cheat at cards, me boyo.” He clapped the beastmaster on the shoulder as he drew his revolver and led the charge into the depths of sin.

_________

By the third day, all of them were tired and irritable from the near constant run-and-gun tactics they were forced to use in the confines of the casino. There were no good ambush points, no sniper nests that the loosely affiliated gangs hadn’t built around other structures themselves, and a serious lack of familiar Marcus Munitions machines to help them restock. It wasn’t really a surprise, but it made for an aggravating evening as they holed up in the hidden rooms, munching on rations, emptying bullets from the guns they’d gathered, and divvying up the disappointing spoils. At least tonight, they had a safer place to stay and weren’t as worried about taking shifts standing guard against the angry, starving, desperate survivors.

Being cut off from the rest of the world except for the occasional communication from Moxxi was bothering him far more than he wanted it to, so he’d slipped into professional mode, treating this as if it really were a job he’d been hired for and not just a favor for a friend. It meant the initial giddiness he’d displayed when they’d landed had quickly vanished, and the team was seeing the pure operative side of him… it wasn’t pretty, but it was a way to cope… and he was afraid it was the only way he was going to get out of here without falling into himself.

The atmosphere of the place was growing oppressive with the inescapable visage of a long-dead villain staring down at them from everywhere. It meant his influence still hadn’t died, which was irritating enough by itself.

When they’d run across Tim, it had been even worse. Zane knew the kid was a doppelganger, had met him more than a few times previously, but it hadn’t kept his initial reaction from kicking in at a live body bearing that face.

_“Please don’t kill me! I’m not who you think!!”_

_Zane had been the closest, and as soon as Tim pulled back the hood, his fist met the doppelganger’s eye with enough force that he heard bone crunching… or maybe it was just the mask cracking a little more. The man was looking like he’d been through hell and back, but only appeared resigned as the operative towered over him with the Jakobs pointed at his head and at his side a monster with a huge maw that was nothing but fangs waiting to make him into a quick snack._

_“Please…”_

Gaze flicking over to the still jumpy Timothy, he offered a slab of jerky over his shoulder to the fluff behind him. Grim sniffed it once and took it gingerly from his fingers before settling against the operative’s back to contentedly gnaw. Grim had already doubled in size from the little handful of fur and fangs he’d originally found, but still stuck to him like a fuzzy magnet. So far, it hadn’t needed a leash of any sort, but it hadn’t gotten to the willful challenge stage yet, either. That peace probably wasn’t going to last, the same way everything else around him eventually fell into chaos.

_“Please…"_

It had been the way Tim had said it…like he didn’t feel like he deserved any kind of mercy, but still held on to some small sliver of hope after all this time. Seven years. He’d been dodging his own bounties for at least that long himself, but not on a comparatively tiny, enclosed station where every living soul in the place was after him and there were only so many places to run. He had to respect that…and to be honest, he was impressed that this version of Jack was the one who had survived it. If it had been any of the others, he would have pulled the trigger without a second thought. It hadn’t been Amara’s gentle touch on his arm that had stopped him… it was the “please” that had broken through and saved Tim’s life.

Lucky man.

Not everyone in the casino had been so fortunate when they crossed paths.

_The cannibalistic request from a trapped survivor turned them all off of helping her further after catering to her initially odd but innocent demands for foodstuff. Moze left the woman with an earful of choice words, but Zane nudged the beastmaster as their teammates stalked away, disgusted._

_Nodding back towards the door, he knew he had the bot curious and they followed. The woman started chittering again, excited that they’d come back, but Zane didn’t answer her, reaching to his belt to unhook a pyro-modded grenade. FL4K had tilted their head in an inquisitive gesture, but didn’t make a move to stop him._

_“It’s mercy. Agreed?”_

_The bot considered it for long enough that Zane wondered if they’d blown a circuit. Normally, he wouldn’t have even asked, but he felt like this needed more than him being lone judge and jury. He’d grown up on a world where it wasn’t as uncommon as people pretended. The Flynts hadn’t ever stooped to that level...one small positive in the endless list of awful things they’d done…but he saw plenty who had, and not because they were starving._

_FL4K finally nodded. “I see the logic in it.”_

_Zane knew the unspoken part of it, though…it was too easy to forget that they were a bloodthirsty murder mech who thoroughly enjoyed a good death, even if they had their own flavor of mercy and empathy to balance it out. Without another word, he pulled the pin and counted out several seconds before shoving it through the panel in the door, taking a single step out of the way in case the door blew off in the process, uncertain just how small the room behind it might be._

_“Oh! Thank you!” The voice cooed, then, “This isn’t…”_

_*BOOM*_

_The door rattled and the panel flew outward, belching a gout of flame and black, acrid smoke out of the narrow opening._

Since then, both he and FL4K had adopted a shoot-first attitude toward most of the survivors. It wasn’t any different from how the automated security force or the cleaning crews treated the flesh-and-blood patrons. He could tell Amara was concerned about the change but she was always distracted by the next crisis or simply trying to survive. There had been more than one encounter that they’d been so outnumbered that the entire team had only managed to limp away after, too exhausted to go through the bodies for more health packs or bullets.

He would have thought after all this time, the population and the staff would have thinned each other out, but there felt like there was an unending supply of both. How many thousands of people had been trapped here? How many had died in the first waves of panic? How many more who had once been normal vacationers turned into murderers and thieves as the years went on and the hopes of rescue had been crushed out of them? How many had become gang leaders, killing and being killed, and starting the cycle of terror and misery and desperate survival all over again with each transition?

Lady Luck had fecked over a whole lot of people in this gaudy temple of excess.

And he needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo many reasons for not getting around to posting before this (life and work and not-life and feels and just generally everything), so I hope Part 1 of the casino heist makes up for it to some degree! Part 2 will not take nearly as long!


	24. There's No Such Thing as Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smashing trigger buttons with a sledgehammer as the walls start closing in.

“Marry me!”

The entire team turned as one to give Zane variations on an incredulous look.

“Uh…I mean… _married_ … I’m already… uh… _was_. Used to be. Once…or twice. Okay, a few times. But not now! But… engaged… no… no, I’m not. We didn’t ever get around to…” He looked over to Amara for help, but she had her arms crossed and a brow raised, entirely unamused as she watched him verbally crash and burn. “…that?” He watched her expression change from annoyance and disappointment to confusion. For that matter, now his other teammates were staring at him like they’d never seen him before in their lives. Ember stood with her hand on that perfect hip and smiled patiently as if he was simply one in a very long line of people who had gone tongue-tied in her presence.

_Strike two._

“…aaaaaand..just gonna go over here while ya hash out the plans, yeah?”

 _And shoot meself in the head. Noooot a good first impression. And that look from ‘Mara? You put a foot in it this time, boyo._ He’d thought he was well beyond some boyish, awkward insta-lust reaction to anyone.

Especially after he’d sucker-punched Tim earlier in the day for simply touching him.

It made sense to him at the time, but it just looked petty and mean to everyone else. Tim was nervous around him anyway after being introduced fist-to-face once already… so this was just going to make the kid even more skittish and jumpy and mistrustful.

He was already antsy himself. The entire casino felt like it was closing in. There was no safe haven here, nowhere the team could retreat to that was entirely secure. On Pandora, they had Roland’s Rest and Boomtown. On Eden-6, they had the Jakobs’ hunting lodge and eventually the estate, even though after reclaiming it, the relic of a building felt empty and forgotten. On Promethea, they had Atlas’ HQ and its strongholds. They had the safety of Sanctuary everywhere they traveled.

Except here. Here, they had a hole-in-the-wall that was easy enough to find if anyone with a braincell and a working eye was looking for it…complete with a barely held-together doppelganger and an entire casino full of people who would happily remove them from existence if they found them.

It wasn’t unusual to be in the middle of enemy territory, surrounded by a few hundred bloodthirsty lunatics. What was throwing him off his game was that there was no escape plan for the end. If they failed on any other place in the galaxy, they limped back to base, licked their wounds, and tried again from another angle. If they failed here, there was no way off the station unless you wanted to vent yourself out an airlock. Period.

He’d already spent far too many hours of downtime trying to hack into the casino’s systems. As much as he hated to admit it, Jack had been a brilliant programmer. He simply couldn’t find a backdoor that would bypass the lockdown, and he had a hundred different code cracking tools in his arsenal. He asked Moxxi about getting Gaige involved, but of course she had already tried …there was no access to the systems from outside, and unlike them, the little hacker had zero interest in imprisoning herself during the process.

They had everything to lose. The survivors here had no such limitations; they’d already lost everything, including hope.

Adding to that, he’d had an especially ugly dream during the little bit of sleep he’d managed to wrest from his hyperactive brain, and the memory of it burned behind his eyelids with far too much physical and emotional clarity than he liked.

Amara knew the lingering look by now…the subtle body language that screamed “do NOT touch!” when something completely innocuous set off a new round of PTSD. But Timothy didn’t know…couldn’t know… and had gotten just one innocent touch too close at the worst possible time. It wasn’t sexual and wouldn’t have been taken as such by anyone in any circumstance…but a mind as emotionally train-wrecked as Zane’s didn’t give two shits about intent.

At the simple, humanizing gesture…the attempt at breaking the tension between them, a friendly palm on his shoulder…a switch flipped and he sent the kid sprawling before he even registered he’d done it. Mortified, he’d grabbed his gear and fled…there was no way he could frame a coherent or believable apology in his current state of mind, so he hoped the others could do it for him until he could pull himself together enough to go back to the saferoom with his tail tucked between his legs _._ Tim didn’t deserve his shite, but there it was.

Once the others had caught up with him…and he’d pointedly ignored their worried glances long enough that they’d finally stopped hovering…their search for the mysterious Ember had gone well enough. It said far too much about his past that he was comfortably chatty with the employees in the red light district… which was completely at odds with his extreme reaction to _nothing_ only a few hours before.

Despite the outward appearance he was projecting, it felt like he was coming apart at the seams. He wasn’t the only one, of course… the heist was weighing on them all. It was one thing to steal an object or a ship or even a person. It was entirely another to steal an entire casino out from under a dozen different gangs and the despotic self-proclaimed ruler of their isolated hell.

Part of him really wished Moxxi would let them torch the place from the start and be done with it. After they’d been briefed, he’d sat down with her alone and discussed final solutions…what to do if everything else failed. As soon as they were done talking about last chance solutions, he’d wished it had been FL4K who held the button rather than him. At least the bot would be logical about whether to blow the casino’s stabilizers and let it fall into the black hole with them on it…but he’d spent decades making those kinds of decisions, which was why Moxx had trusted him with it instead. It was just one more burden he was carrying during this mission that the others didn’t know about.

It would be easier…and probably cheaper… for the entrepreneurial seductress to start from scratch than to fix this much awful. But there were still good people here, and none of the vault hunters could live with themselves if they didn’t try to save them. Most of the survivors had probably been decent folk at one time…desperation made people do a lot of things they normally wouldn’t, and it wasn’t their fault they were stuck here.

In finding Ember, he’d finally just short-circuited. Nothing was wrong with his implants, but brain and mouth had done an amazing job on their own, completely disconnecting at exactly the wrong moment. Now he was sulking in the corner, half listening to the rest of the team as they planned out their next move.

_Pull yerself together, boyo. This is the worst possible place to lose it._

Only last year, he could have buried his concerns in alcohol, and there was more than enough on the station to let him drown completely. That particular struggle wasn’t getting any easier to deal with, and there was no way to pretend the others couldn’t see his mental spiral. He was pulling the trigger without thought more often lately, too…and the thoughts swirling endlessly in his brain were darker than he cared to admit aloud.

_“Do me a solid first, and I’ll see about getting you some access cards.”_

_The *clickclick* of a revolver hammer being pulled back was loud, even in the constant noise of the dead casino._

_“How ‘bout you give us the card instead of wastin’ our time and bullets on something you were going to do yerself anyway?” Zane snarled at the ganger, patience completely gone._

_“Zane! Wait…” Amara looked horrified that he was even suggesting such a thing. They were the heroes… they were supposed to help people._

_“You might wanna listen to yer lady friend, mister.” The bastard was smug, Zane had to give him that much._

_So, he pulled the trigger, spattering brains and blood across Iron Bear’s arm as Moze jerked back in surprise._

_“Dude! What the actual fuck??!”_

Strike one.

_The operative was already searching through the dead ganger’s pockets, and after a moment, with a triumphant “Ha!” came up with an access card held between his fingers._

_“That was unnecessary!”_

_“Was it, though? Are you nae sick of asshats givin’ us the runaround while we just bow and scrape and do their bidding? Of cooooourse we’ll help you! Nooooo, no, we don’t need payment. We’re just that sweet and kind.” He stood, nudging the body with the toe of his boot. “Tell me…how many times have we arrived juuuuust a bit too late, ‘cause we’re runnin’ little shite errands fer every jackass in the galaxy? I’m done.”_

_Moze popped her gum. “Wow… uh… hate to admit, but he’s kinda got a point.”_

_“Because we’re the good guys!”_

_“That depends on who ya ask.” He flicked the card to the AI with a casual flip of his wrist, and it bounced off of FL4K’s jacket before they caught it on the downward arc. “And it dunnae mean we have to be taken advantage of while actual good people die fer no feckin’ good reason.”_

_He bent down again, rifling the man’s pockets, discarding trinkets, pocketing bullets, and eventually coming up with a tarnished flask. He held it for a long series of heartbeats, staring at the temptation before finally closing his eyes with a long exhale and tucking it back into the bandit’s pocket._

_When he stood up, he caught the look Amara was giving him…a mix of pride and worry, a much deeper concern than simply over his moment of indecision. She could see through him better than anyone else. Under normal circumstances, they might have split off and talked through it. But now…_

“Come on, Cassanova. Stop daydreamin’ and let’s go!” Moze thumped him on the shoulder harder than necessary to focus his wandering attention, leading him to slide off the barstool and follow the rest of the team.

Normally, she would have teased him more about his slip of the tongue, but he noted that she’d also been observing him more closely for a few days. He suspected that while he was on watch in the evenings, the team had been trying to figure out what to do with him if he went off the rails. It should have bothered him more, but honestly, he would have done the same if he was in their position. He wondered if it was standard practice for the previous vault hunters…sit around and talk worst case scenarios for the most unstable killers in their midst. Not that they weren’t all unstable in some way, but there was always at least one in every group who was more than capable of turning on the others and murdering everyone at the snap of a finger.

And yet somehow, they were mostly alive and still friends. Past and present.

Maybe that was what kept them from falling all the way into murderous madness. Just having someone else there to catch you when you fell.

He hoped they would all still be around after this, because he was going to need more help than most.

______________

Amara had tasked FL4K to help her keep an eye on their increasingly unstable assassin. It wasn’t a question anymore of _if_ Zane was going to break, it was _when_ , and she had no idea what to do to stop it. Honestly, FL4K was their best chance at overpowering him if it came down to it. Distractions only went so far, and they were all sick of playing cards and even more tired of the constant noise of the casino. Since booze was off-limits for Zane, it was off-limits for all of them while they were together. There was nowhere quiet any of them could go, and even she was having trouble shutting it out to meditate.

She’d asked Timothy if there was anywhere they could get away from everything for a couple of hours.

_"Red Light District."_

_She gave him a look, and he’d just shrugged and gestured to the room they were in. Casa de Timothy was not exactly what she’d had in mind, either._

_“This entire station is designed to accommodate guests for weeks at a time, and you’re telling me that there aren’t any vacant rooms anywhere?”_

_He threw up his hands. “Believe me, I looked! And I have access to everything! The only rooms left are in the high-roller suites in the tower, because no one else can get in. Everything has either been claimed or is a place you do not want to spend more than five seconds inside of.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“Incinerators stopped working a few years ago, not long after Trashlantis formed.”_

_“But…? Ohhhhh… eww.”_

_“Yeah. Welcome to paradise.”_

Zane’s moods had still been somehow manageable…it was impossible not to see the struggle, but he was hanging on. It helped that he’d made friends with Ember after the initial embarrassment of their meeting… but honestly, there were very few people Zane didn’t eventually make friends with. Oddly, she wasn’t jealous of Ember; she liked the woman…might have even tried to hook up herself had they all been in entirely different circumstances and relationships.

She’d even seen him chatting with Digby Vermouth about music, sharing stories that had nothing to do with being in the casino. Zane had spewed so much nonsense in his ramblings, that sometimes none of them could tell what was true and what was boastful elaboration, but apparently his joke about playing the sax had _some_ truth to it. Digby seemed genuinely happy to have someone to talk to who actually knew about music, and the operative had him snorting with laughter as he gleefully wove a story about how his older brother had sabotaged a childhood piano recital.

The most hopeful thing was when she walked in on him having an earnest ECHO discussion with Mordecai. She’d quietly backed out, knowing that the lanky hunter had been helping him keep on the straight and narrow….and with the sheer volume of alcohol left in the casino, she was more than happy to have help with that particular temptation.

It meant their unstable operative been reaching out for help and hanging on.

All the way up to the point where that wheedling little bastard with the robot fetish had betrayed them.

That had been the last straw, and even the impressively foul-mouthed Moze had stared at the operative, wide-eyed at the venom that spewed from his lips when they were forcibly separated from Tim. They’d all heard him curse a blue streak before, but this was an ear-blistering tirade of torturous promises that would have been terrifying to _anyone_ on the receiving end. When he finally calmed enough to take a breath and realize he wasn’t going to claw his way through the barrier by sheer force of will, he spun on his heel and _sprinted…sprinted…_ out of the control room and back the way they’d come in.

FL4K was the one among them who managed to keep their head, grabbing the furious operative by the arm as he sped by. “Wait…” was all they were able to get out before they found themselves holding solid electicity…the blue digiclone standing where Zane had been only a second ago, looking at them with a completely neutral expression.

“Goddammit, Z! Wait!” Amara shouted after him, already in motion to follow.

Moze stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and a baffled expression on her face. “I’ve never seen him like that…I thought he didn’t even like TimTim?” she whispered.

“Timothy thought he absolutely despised him. He doesn’t, though. Our doppelganger just…” Amara considered the best way to describe it as they hurried to try to catch up with Zane. “…inadvertently pushes some buttons.”

“Those reactions? That’s not pushing buttons…that’s smashing them with a hammer.”

The siren shook her head. “He can’t help it.”

“Who can’t help it… Zane or Tim?”

“Either of them.”


End file.
